


Winding Sands

by Noxtorious



Series: Sand Dunes-Winding Sands 'verse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Bill Murray gets an upgrade, Bill is a really funny dude, Fae & Fairies, Gen, John is always understanding, M/M, Merman!John, Mythology - Freeform, Sandman!John, Sherlock sorta makes friends with someone who is not John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxtorious/pseuds/Noxtorious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a outrageous case about a rare, priceless fish that's been stolen. At first, he deems the case silly and refuses to help. Expect when he's called by the Yard and the same case he rejected had similarities with their crime scene. When clues and events surrounding the case start to turn strange, the outcome will be more than anyone could have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bored!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chaptered Sherlock. There's a whole world built from this and some of chapters are already written out. I don't have a beta so I'm doing all the Brit-picking and grammar myself. Feel free to point out any mistake and leave constructive criticism.
> 
> Some Americanisms and possible grammar mistakes.

Sherlock let out a sigh as he stared at the ceiling of his flat. He had already cataloged all the cracks and stains at least twice ( _champagne stains from a wedding fifteen years ago and water leaks from a pipe_ ). There was absolutely nothing to do. No interesting cases, no puzzles, not even a serial killing! Did every criminal decide to take a vacation? He was almost hoping that Mycroft called so he could bother him about his weight. Lestrade probably wouldn't enjoy any more pressing texts.

He already threatened to not call him into cases for the next two weeks if he texted again. Sadly, his website wasn't any better. The only things he kept getting were domestic cases and missing pets. That was just sickeningly boring. Disgusting even. Sherlock rolled onto his side and let out an annoyed huff. If a case didn't turn up soon, his brain would atrophy.

Committing murder was better than this. God, what he wouldn't do to have a cigarette just to break the boredom. He started to count the stitches in his Union Jack pillow just to give himself something to do. A buzzing sound quickly got Sherlock's attention and cut through the haze of boredom. For a minute, Sherlock thought that he was hearing things. The buzzing sound continued and was followed by a small clacking sound. His mobile had fallen off the table from the vibrations.

He almost lept up with joy, but settled with sitting up. Everyone he was in contact with knew texting was his preferred method of communication. That only left that someone who found his website and had a case. Maybe a good murder wasn't out of the question. Grabbing his mobile off the floor, Sherlock scanned the number and realized it was a East Sussex area code.

"Sherlock Holmes. Don't be boring.” he said, answering the call.

"Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I'm so glad you answered. I found your website and well, I urgently need your expertise on a troubling problem." a man said with deep relief on the other side of the line.

Sherlock could hear the desperation in the man's voice. He obviously called after calming himself down from a near panic attack. Not that he cared that much, of course. Chances were that a friend or relative got killed and it would a very intricate case full of lovely puzzles.

"Depending on the problem, I'll offer my services. I hope for your sake, it's interesting.” he said as he stood.

He stepped over the coffee table and walked over to his desk. He shoved a stack of papers to the floor until he managed to unearth his laptop. He flipped it opened and started to check the internet for crimes happening in Sussex. His potential client made a spluttering sound that was partly defensive and bordering on slight outrage.

"I assure you it is, Mr. Holmes. My case is like no other case you ever had. You see, my priceless...fish has been stolen.” he answered.

Sherlock waited for his searches to go through and couldn't help but be intrigued by the claim. That was always the answer someone gave him when they had a case. 'It's so important, please help me.' He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Yet, it was the first thing that could be potentially interesting all week. If the man wanted his help, he would have to come to Baker Street.

"I see. I won't take the case until I have the whole story. Come to London, the address is 221B Baker Street. I do look forward to your case, Mr.-?"

"How did you- never mind. Murray. Bill Murray. I can be in London tomorrow morning. Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes."

"Don't thank me yet. Your case might not be worth the trouble."

Sherlock ended the call and threw his mobile onto the sofa. Dealing with the general public was still a hindrance. They were idiots, but he couldn't risk losing a potential thrilling case. He needed someone to do all the tedious work for him. The taking calls, dealing with the idiots and having some kind of medical background would be a bonus. He really needed some kind of assistant.


	2. A New Case

Sherlock pretended to tidy up the living room as he waited for Murray to arrive. Ms. Hudson kept telling him about the papers accumulating around the room in stacks. Personally, he didn't see that it was out of hand. There wasn't any more space in the bookcase. It would be ever so tedious to rearrange his whole filing system. If anything, she should have been proud that he wasn't the average idiot reading nonsense.

All his papers were case notes, scientific journals and whatever he was interested in at the moment. Not useless tabloid magazines or trashy novels that everyone loved to talk about.

"Sherlock! You have a client! Sending him up to you, dear." Ms. Hudson shouted from downstairs.

Stopping his pacing, Sherlock waited impatiently with his hands clasped behind him. It was already too much waiting and he needed a good case. He also needed a bit of money to pay rent. Mycroft was still holding his trust fund hostage. The fat git was also out the question when it came to cases. The cases were always boring. Lestrade was still ignoring him about cases too.

He even stopped answering his texts which was more annoying than frustrating. He took a seat in his leather armchair and picked at the nicotine patch on the inside of his arm. Boredom and impatience were eating away inside him. God, what was it like to be the average person and go through life without anything relevant going on? At hearing the last of footsteps come to a stop, Sherlock lifted his gaze to the doorway. Finally.

"Mr. Murray. Come in. Take a seat." Sherlock said, motioning to the empty armchair across from him.

He watched Bill hesitate in the doorway, taking in the state of his flat. He quickly snapped out of it and walked to the offered seat. Sherlock watched him and decided to make some deductions about his potential client:

Straight posture indicated military ( _completed last tour about six months ago_ ). Still trying to get used to civilian life if checking the exits of his flat were any indication. Faded grey shirt, well-worn leather jacket ( _saltwater stains from a river or ocean_ ), high end jeans with bit of sand and mud in the cuffs ( _East Sussex variety so living near the ocean_ ), boots [military grade] also had traces of mud on the soles ( _has to walk through the beach to get to home_ ). About average height, broad shoulders, muscular frame with a narrow waist ( _what Western culture would consider for a male to be attractive_ ). Tan above the wrist ( _served in hot climate, most likely Afghanistan_ ) with slight callouses along his hands. Indicated work with medical instruments. Not a doctor since nothing indicated work with anything surgical. Most likely RAMC nurse, but got a job in a hospital when arriving home.

In all, someone that was confident in their abilities and work. He liked to splurge on what he enjoyed, but was still practical when it came to money. Military and all that. Interesting. Sherlock couldn't help but take in some of the more boring details like eye color ( _green_ ), facial structure ( _average with a cleft in the chin_ ), and haircut and color ( _jet black and "trendy" if the product had anything to say_ ).

"Explain the case. I don't have all day."

Bill looked at him in surprise and somewhat startled. He leaned back in the armchair to gather his thoughts, rubbing his arm in nervousness. He barely acknowledged that Sherlock was waiting his every move. He took a calming breath and gave him a weak smile.

"Ah. Right. I'm really grateful you're taking the time to hear me out. This whole thing has me a bit wound up. Frazzled, really." Bill said.

He quickly cut himself off at the annoyed glare Sherlock threw his way. Right. Don't waste his time or be 'boring'.

"Let me start from the beginning. I came home from work a few nights ago and found my house broken in. It threw me off since my neighbors are mostly elderly and a few couples with small children. When I checked inside, four men in black were rushing out through the back door. They had destroyed the room I kept my fish in, but other than that, left everything else untouched. They got in a unmarked van before I could get to them.

I checked to see what they had stolen and realized they had taken my fr-I mean fish. I wanted to go to the police first, but I have a long standing...issue with them. I'm sure it was a professional job."

Bill went silent after and worried with the zipper on his jacket. His whole body language screamed worry and nervousness. Sherlock wondered why people cared for their pets so much. Sentiment. Bill wasn't asking his help for a lost investment. He was careful with money and wouldn't waste it things he didn't need.

His high end clothing was proof of that. Why would anyone go through so much trouble to steal a fish? Ransom? Fame? Collections? Frowning, Sherlock pressed his hand together under his chin.

"What's so special about this fish? You said rare, but you could be lying. What species is it? How much is worth? Is it endangered? Was a ransom left? I need more data.” Sherlock said.

If he was lucky, it could turn out to be an underground smuggling ring. That would make his whole month. Then again, it could be a very irate neighbor playing a trick. He watched Bill nod and his nervous demeanor skyrocketed for a second. It disappeared as Bill ran fingers through his hair, making it messier than before. He looked to be debating on telling Sherlock something.

If he kept data from him, the case was going to be off. The solider in the man showed as he crossed his legs and stared at the fireplace. He sighed as he took a digital camera out his pants pocket. He fiddled with in silence while collecting his thoughts.

"You look like you're a man of science, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please. What gave it away? My website? Or my lab?"

Bill couldn't help but chuckle at the thick sarcasm in the detective's voice. Of course. Just like he expected him to be. His tone came off just like it did on his website. No doubt that the man across from him was brilliant and in a class off his own. Still, he was trying to be serious and the explanation was going to get even more complicated.

"Someone with methods like yours is deeply rooted in science and logic. Hell, I'm a former RAMC nurse and still work in the medical field and it's amazing. It can't be explained by science or medicine. Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural? Magic? Myths?” he asked seriously.

Sherlock's frown deepened at the sudden questions. What did this have to do with the case? He knew about various religions, myths, magic and illogical things as superstitions. Most things could be easily explained with science. He knew not everything couldn't be explained by science, but it could be as easily worked out by someone who used their brain. He always saw such this as fodder for the mindless populace, needing something to fall back on in their lives.

Always needing something to look up and explain the unknown. The real question was where was this going?

"I believe that nothing is impossible, only improbable. As for things like faeries, magic and other nonsense, I have a hard time believing still exist or ever existed at all.” he explained.

Bill looked back at Sherlock and let out a small chuckle. He had a feeling that would be the answer. He was the same way not only two years ago. Turning his attention to the camera, he turned it on and looked for the pictures he needed. He had to show Sherlock what he was talking about. When he found the set he was looking for, he handed it to the detective for him to see.


	3. Impossiblities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Okay so instead of having the link up here, I inserted a link of the picture in the first paragraph. Its a bit neater, especially while cleaning up this fic for grammar and spelling mistakes.

Sherlock started to thumb through the pictures with widening eyes. This couldn't be real. Impossible. Was he being tricked?

"I used to think like that before Afghanistan. The locals always talk about myths all the time and pass it on to their kids. Stories about things that hide in the desert sands and in the mountains. There are even stories about things that live in the waters. There was this one story a woman told me about certain creatures living in the sands. Called them sandfolk.

She told me that they're related to mermaids except far more dangerous and live on land. Hell, they apparently even live with humans in remote places all over Asia and Africa. I...wasn't telling the whole truth to you. My friend in those pictures is[ John](http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/293/6/7/sandman_john_by_snacktasticz-d5ife1d.jpg). He's a sandperson. Sandman. He was kidnapped and not without a struggle. He's not really a fish. More like part reptile, part fish." Bill explained.

Sherlock was distantly aware of Bill's voice, but he was busy trying to wrap his mind around the pictures. He stopped on the photo of 'John' playing in the sand. It had to be a trick. He could see the tanned body of a man, just like any other human. Tawny blond hair ( _messy and wet from the surf_ ) and shaggy bangs held out his face by a crab claw ( _how did that even work?_ ). There was a tangled mess of scar tissue from a gun, but he couldn't determine how 'John' received it.

Dark blue eyes stared curiously at the camera and were set off by a bright smile that showed a set of sharp fangs. That was the only human part. Where there were supposed to be legs was a scaly, translucent tail that was an array of colors ( _brown and gold? Needed more data_ ). Jellyfish tentacles ( _smoky brown tendrils? appendages?_ ) flared out at his side, busy weaving through the sand. The body of the jellyfish seemed to rest slightly above 'John's' head ( _dark red membrane and translucent body like the tail. A hat? Accessory? Body part?_ ). Sherlock flicked through more pictures and saw the body was connected by two tendrils coming from John's spine.

They seemed to be just as flexible as the ones on his tail. There were two suspicious tattoos ( _too blurry to see what it is_ ) on the base of the creature's spine. He couldn't put his head around it. It had to be a fake. A really good fake at that. There was no possible way such a creature could exist.

Sherlock Holmes was not to be made a fool off. The pictures could be easily taken after someone was donned with makeup and costumes. There were various computer programs that could give him such an image.

"Impossible. Don't play games with me. I have no need for people in costumes and makeup. Goodbye, Mr. Murray.” he snapped, throwing the camera in Bill's lap.

Bill grabbed the camera and sputtered in shock. It was not a trick. Sherlock was the last person he could get help from. If not, he would never ever see John again. He would be gone forever.

"Sherlock! It's no trick and before you say it, I'm perfectly sane. I need your help. You have to believe me." he protested as he stood out his seat.

Sherlock glared at him and rose out his seat to meet him. He walked forward and loomed slightly over Bill. Not that it was much as the man was half a head shorted than he was. Bill didn't back down and stood his ground, looking right back at Sherlock. His body language suggested that he wasn't lying and was desperate for help. Still, he could be a good liar.

"Things like that are just a hoax and computer graphics. Your case is boring anyway. I won't take it. Now, leave my flat. If you have an actual case, then consider contacting me again. Preferably with a murder. Missing imaginary creatures are no business of mine.” he snapped.

Bill frowned and clenched his fists at Sherlock's words. Who the hell did he think he was? Gritting his teeth to restrain from punching the detective, he pocketed his camera. He backed away and walked to the door. He didn't need to be insulted. He'd find another way to get John.

"I'll be in London for the next two weeks if you change your mind. Good day, Mr. Holmes.” Bill said as he walked out the door.

Sherlock watched him go with a frown. Disappointing. He was almost sure the case was going to be interesting. Unfortunately, those pictures had to come into light. He didn't like being lied to. Bill was probably trying to use his services for his own gain. 

That or he had some issues from the war he needed to work out. Sighing, he walked to the sofa and picked up his violin. He flopped down and plucked out random notes. His mood was steadily declining. No, he wasn't sulking over some case that would not have been worth it. He was not as stupid as the rest of the population.

He was not so easily swayed by pictures with discernible to no true origin. Myths and nonsense like that were ways for the rest of the populace to explain things they couldn't understand. People never think or observe.

More notes came from the violin as he laminated on the creeping boredom. It was going to be a horrible week. The world was conspiring against him. As if unbidden, Sherlock found himself remembering those blue eyes from the pictures. There wasn't much he could deduce from them at first look. The ' **sandman** ' had intelligence in that gaze that intrigued him.

That creature defied the very laws of nature. Reptiles were cold blooded and lived in warm temperatures. Sea life in general needed water to survive and jellyfish especially lived in the deeper parts of the ocean. Too many contradictions. No creature like that would be able to live. Sherlock shook his head and worked his fingers faster over his instrument. 

He was **not**  thinking about anything to do with that stupid case. It would have been boring anyway. Another case would come in soon. Lestrade would stop ignoring him and call him for help. There wasn't a week that went by that he called him for help on a murder case. Only thing he had to do was try and wait to be called.


	4. Too Strange

Sherlock found himself looking at silvers of frozen skin patches to entertain himself. It was interesting to see the effect of the compromised cells through defrosting. It could be relevant to a case one day. Maybe. Someone would throw a body in a freezer in the near future. He used his free hand to write down notes, looking at his mobile when it vibrated. Not that he would be getting his hopes up this time. Yesterday was disappointing in obtaining a case. After his mobile vibrated once more, Sherlock picked it up. Of course, it was Lestrade. It took the man three days but he finally texted him.

 **Need your help with new robbery case.**   **GL**

Sherlock frowned at his mobile and leaned back in his chair. Robberies were boring. They were usually committed by simple headed criminals who couldn't think for themselves. It would take him no time to solve. He wanted a challenge. He needed something that got his blood pumping and his mind racing. Lestrade had to text him because something was strange. 

**Sounds boring. Victim was murdered? SH**

**No. Claims to have had some exotic pet nabbed. Also can't figure out how suspects escaped. GL**

Sherlock read the text twice and tilted his head. It was strange and almost sounded like-no. For once, he could admit he was thinking too much into something for his own liking. The case could be potentially interesting.

**Where is crime scene? SH**

**Hackney. Block of flats near the tube stop. Will be on the tenth floor. GL**

Sherlock could feel himself buzzing with the familiar excitement of a new case. He might not have a murder but at least there was a potential puzzle to solve. Getting up, he grabbed his coat and scarf off the back of the armchair. He made sure he had his mobile as he called out to Ms. Hudson that he was going out. He ran out the door and to the curb, hailing a cab.

"Hackney.” Sherlock said to the cabbie as he got in. 

He hoped that Lestrade wasn't lying to him. It better be that he needed help. God only knows how he gets work done with Anderson on the team. That man was a certified idiot. It took a while for him to get to the crime scene with traffic in the way. At seeing the flashing lights of police vehicles as they drove up the street, Sherlock told the cabbie to stop.

He threw some notes at him as he jumped out, walking to the crime scene. One of the officers spotted him and lifted the tape for him to pass under. Sherlock was glad to have no annoyances on getting on the crime scene. There were no signs of either Donovan or Anderson outside. They probably were inside the crime scene and putting out terrible theories. He made his way into the building and took the lift to the tenth floor.

He was already thinking of how the robbers got inside. There was a buzz in system, but the lock to open the door was picked ( _professional by the lack of scratches_ ). He stepped out the lift as the doors opened and looked around the hallway. There were no definite clues as to the robbers getting out this way. He saw Lestrade waiting down the hall in front of the flat and made his way over. Not acknowledging the greeting thrown his way, Sherlock went straight to the door. 

It was virtually untouched except for the cut out part where the lock and doorknob should have been ( _used a saw or some kind of blade_ ). Sherlock did a few more inspections before looking into the flat itself. He saw Donovan sitting with a woman on the sofa in the living room and down the hall to the left, a bedroom door left opened. The living room was clean and it was like no one had invaded. Strange.

"Sherlock. You have to work with me on this one and I need all the information you get. The robbers destroyed that kitchen. No keeping anything from me." Lestrade said seriously, not moving until Sherlock nodded in agreement.

The DI led Sherlock to the kitchen and waved a hand to him to do what he needed him to do. Drawers were pulled out and thrown across the room. Cabinets were ripped off or dangling on their hinges and cutlery was scattered across the floor. Whatever dishes the victim had owned were broken and all over every surface. The single window in the kitchen was beyond repair. The pane was warped and covered in claw like gouges that ran deep into the sheet rock of the wall.

Glass littered the edges of the broken pane, but none was on the inside of the flat. What could have done so much damage? Sherlock frowned as he saw Anderson standing among the wreckage bagging what he thought was evidence. Didn't Lestrade know he hated Anderson to be on his crime scene? He really needed an assistant. The idiot was already ruining what evidence might have been left.

"What are you doing here, freak? This is a robbery. Not one of your murder fantasies.” Anderson sneered from his kneeling position. 

"Anderson. I should always be called when you’re here mucking up the scene. I see your wife made up with you last night. On the outs with Donovan?” Sherlock said snidely as he strode past him to the window. 

He didn't bother to look back as Anderson sputtered in outrage before stomping out the kitchen. Sherlock had more than enough work to do. He touched the gouges at the bottom of the destroyed pane, trying to conclude how they could have been made. It was too small for a grappling hook and too big to be done by an animal short of being out a zoo. It didn't make sense. He walked to the cabinets and looked for anything out the ordinary.

In one of the cabinets above the sink, there was small bundle of cloth that resembled a nest. It was covered in black hairs ( _fur?_ ). He saw that someone had disturbed the nest and it was already tagged as evidence. Pieces were starting to come together, but nothing made sense as of yet.

"I need to talk to the victim." Sherlock said as he stepped away from the cabinet.

Lestrade looked up from his spot on the wall and shook his head. There was no way Sherlock was getting near her. He didn't know how to talk to people. The last thing he needed the detective to do was make the poor woman cry. Or, try to kill the lanky git and make it pure hell all around. Unfortunately, he knew Sherlock would find a way to talk to her and he needed information. The media was starting to pick up on the case.

"Fine. Do not upset her, Sherlock. I swear I'll keep you off a crime scene for a week. Her name is Lucy Markov and she might be a little batty." Lestrade said, praying to whatever god that everything went smoothly.

"Batty? Why? You said it was only a pet stolen which is obvious from the disturbed nest in the cabinet above the sink."

"I'm saying she's batty because apparently the pet stolen was a brownie. A legend from a story. A fairy tale. That's why."

No. That was too much of a coincidence. Way too much of one to ignore. He went into the living room and was glad that Donovan was out the way. He didn't need any useless distractions. Taking in her appearance ( _late twenties, brunette and blue eyes, thick glasses, timid_ ), he knew how he should approach her. He could see on the sling on her arm had the same black hairs that were in the kitchen.

"Ms. Markov. I'm going to ask you some questions, if that's alright. Can you tell me what happened? Don't worry. I'll listen to everything you have to say." Sherlock said, putting on a warm smile.

Sherlock knew he had to be delicate if he wanted to get some questions answered. He didn't want Lestrade getting on his back and he needed crime scenes. Plus, he had to have more data for the case. If his developing theory turned out to be correct, he was going to be more than ecstatic and annoyed for himself. Ms. Markov looked at Sherlock hesitantly and bit her lip. She was stalling on what to tell him.

"I-I came in to find my door like that and heard those men in my kitchen. They destroyed everything! There were four of them in black parading around and breaking everything like it was trash. I don't understand why they were here! I must've made a noise because I caught their attention and couldn't fight back much because...well," She raised her arm in the sling with a sheepish smile.

"They came to kidnap Galen. He's my brownie, my sweet little Galen. Those brutes took him right out his bed and threw him in a cage. They had some kind of beast...a griffin, I think. That monster made all those claw marks perching in my window. They hit me with a gun, knocked me out and the next thing I knew they were gone. I know I sound insane, but I'm telling the truth an-and God knows what those monsters want with my brownie. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to him!"

On those last words, Ms. Markov broke down in tears which made Sherlock very uncomfortable. He quickly got up before she could look to him for comfort. He could tell she wasn't lying and it bothered him. It was the same description Bill gave him for the men. It was down to the same scenario how the men worked. The room where the pet was being held was ripped apart and they took a quick escape. 

It was a professional job,, but it didn't mean that it was the same men. Sherlock could feel he was on the verge of something big. Unfortunately, there were too many pieces missing. He would have to call Bill and take his case again. There were too many connections between them. Lestrade walked over to him and gave a disapproving look at the crying woman. What? He didn't do anything. 

"This isn't the first case you've had like this. There are others like this, but you've ignored them because of the insane claims of said pets that the owners claimed to lose. Each job looked professionally done and they knew exactly where to get their prize." Sherlock said. 

He was eager to solve such a puzzle. Though, he had a feeling he would be doing heavy research on myths and legends. Lestrade glared at Sherlock, ready to accuse him of tampering with files again. He knew that wasn't the case since Sherlock had been practically been begging for a case earlier in the week. The detective had that light in his eyes when the case was getting interesting to him. Pulling Sherlock out the apartment and to the side, Lestrade looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. It wasn't a secret by any means, but the cases weren't his from the start.

"Okay, yes. There have been four other robberies like this over past year all over England. They got thrown out for the claims of damage that we obviously couldn't find. I worked the last case like this. Gregson worked the other two and Dimmock had the first."

Lestrade saw the expression on Sherlock's face and groaned. He was getting too old for this. 

"Don't tell me. I got serial robbers on the loose? Robbery ring?"

Sherlock gave a vague smirk at Lestrade's words. It was somewhat amusing to see Lestrade so exasperated. He was impressed that he was actually formulating some decent theories. Even if they were partially wrong.

"On the contrary, I believe this is something very intricate. I don't have all the details yet. I'll be needing access to all those files immediately."

He needed all the facts from each case before making any theories. The ones he had floating around were worth thinking of. Also, he would have to be make a call to Bill. He still didn't believe in any of so called pets, but the man was a technically a key part. He had to make sure he was on the right track.


	5. Fustrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, hits and comments. I really didn't think this story would get such a response.

Sherlock looked at his crime scene notes on the wall with a thoughtful frown. The files helped a tiny amount on clues and patterns. He still could not identify the robbers or the reason the robberies were being committed. He was swimming in information and even the smallest bit of data could be relevant. The files were not the only the things he had though. The internet and books on myths were also reviewed for assistance.

Even with all the data with the cases, he had not texted Bill yet. There was still data that needed to be uncovered (and hopefully useful). He could not even call Lestrade with anything, not sure where the next robbery was going to take place. Whoever was behind the whole operation was clever at leaving no evidence. Growling in frustration, Sherlock folded himself in his armchair. He already had three patches on his arm and he was not close enough to put on a fourth one just yet.

The clues were not clicking right. Sherlock moved himself to the sofa and stretched out over it, bringing his hands together. He had to calm himself. What did he know so far? The victims didn't have any connections other than the robberies ( _done very professionally- forced entries varied with location, but were very clean with irrelevant evidence left behind_ ). One room in each home was destroyed with purpose ( _rooms held each 'pet' according to owners, but held no evidence of the captors. DNA from the 'pets' deemed inconclusive_ ).

Out of all four previous victims, only two had a physical picture of the creatures ( _dismissed as fakes/photo manips by the police_ ). From the photos taken of the crime scenes, the larger pets ( _a wyren and oliatu, still had to do research of said creatures_ ) were the only ones to fight against capture. Only one of the previous victims was able to give the same descriptions of the men to the police ( _was put in the hospital by robbers when walking in on said robbery like recent case_ ). There were too many missing variables. What purpose were the creatures for? Was it the same men each time?

How did they find the victims? Where did the owners even find such creatures roaming around? It was not enough data. The only thing Sherlock was sure of was that the robberies were not a small operation. Something big was on the horizon, but for now it was lurking in the shadows.  He thought that studying the creatures would give him some kind of insight on the case, but the stories were nonsense.

Most were about morals, contradicted each other, or started talking about symbolism and religion. All of which were immensely not helpful. He needed to find a historian or a cryptozoologist for clarity. Sherlock needed someone to bounce ideas off of and while the skull was helpful, he needed another perspective. Closing his eyes, Sherlock started to make a list in his mind of the robberies and said creatures housed there.

 

 **First Case** (Jan '10)

Micheal Sancon[Lives in Ingliston]

Owned a pisky

 

 **Second Case** (April '10)

Anna Treford[Lives in Oxford]

Owned a wyren [Picture in file and signs of struggle in crime scene]

  

 **Third Case** (May '10)

Rachel Underwood[Lives in Manchester] [Media started to take notice]

Onwed a nara [signs of a struggle in crime scene]

 

 **Fourth Case** (Sept '10)

David Rumsford[Lives in Bristol] [Media ran with the story and started following the investigations]

Owned an oliatu [Picture in file]

 

None of the people lived in the same cities and the robberies were spaced out by a number of months. The men had taken their time with the previous victims. Now, they were closing up the gaps. He was still missing some data about their movements. Frowning, he added the two previous cases to the list:

 

 **Latest Case** (Oct 4/10)

Lucy Markov[Lives in Hackney]

Owned a brownie 

 

**Private Case**

Bill Murray[Lives in East Sussex]

Owned  ~~John~~  a sandman

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and grumbled. He threw his Union Jack pillow across the room and knocked the skull. If he wanted to get more information, he needed to talk to an expert. The problem was finding one. Sherlock knew he should contact Bill as well. Once that was done, he could give Lestrade the evidence he needed and solve the case.

The DI would be able to appease the media as they were starting to cover the case. Idiots apparently ate up the idea of magic and imaginary creatures being real. Preventing themselves from being robbed was a second thought. It was predictable of the populace. Sherlock grabbed his mobile and texted Lestrade to find anyone with an exotic pet in England. Sure, the man would gripe about it, but the cases were spread out all over the place.

The police forces outside the city would probably be more than willing to help his search. They should be good for something. Grabbing his coat, Sherlock swanned off outside to go to Barts. He skipped the cab and decided to walk the way. Walking helped him think and the new DNA samples from the crime scene should be processed by now.  The walking motions would help him connect dots.

Sherlock wasn't bothered by the looks he got as he talked to himself. He was used it and the case was far more important. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he bumped into a passerby. He was about to berate them for breaking his thinking process when he realized it was the person he had to call. Oh joy. The matter of calling him didn't need to be done after all.

It took the man too long for Sherlock's liking to recognize him. He could have at least apologized for bumping into him.

"Mr. Murray. I would say it’s a pleasure, but there are more important agendas at hand. I need to see your crime scene and require more information about John. Another case like yours has occurred and I need data.” he said. 

Bill looked at Sherlock and let out a loud scoff. The detective had a lot of nerve after blowing him off a few days ago. He wanted to refuse, but he meant it when Sherlock was the only one who could help. He read the papers about the case like his and the past ones like it. Sherlock must be helping the Yard. 

"God, you’re a prick for blowing me off last time. But, I do need your help. If this means getting John back, I can sure as hell put up with you. Why do you want to know about John though? I thought you didn't believe me." he said, ignoring how Sherlock trailed behind him as he walked.

It seemed the detective made the decision to follow Bill to his next destination. Bill did not mind since Sherlock was helping him after all. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the question and came up with a lie. 

"Relevant to the case. The larger creatures fought against their attackers before being captured. They left small traces of evidence at the scene that came out inconclusive. I still think you’re lying, but the other cases are just as strange. Plus, you’re the only other person I can get a secondhand account from on the scene."

He did not know why he needed to know more about the sandman. For the past few days, Sherlock found himself thinking about those eyes and that scar. How did someone wound a creature of myth?  Ugh. Those thoughts were silly and unwanted. Sherlock was sure it was result of not yet deleted information that he could possibly use. He would  take care of those weird thoughts once he saw the crime scene in East Sussex.


	6. The Original Crime Scene Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally sorry, people. RL has been a pain and the chapter weren't coming out like I wanted them too. But no more fear, I'll hopefully have this whole story finished eventually. I'll probably be posting the next chapter or so tonight or tomorrow.

The two made a small detour to the bank before boarding the next train to Sussex. Bill tried to answer all the questions the detective had, but it was hard. For one, Sherlock was unbelievably rude. Secondly, he was still a bit pissed from being denied help before. 

"I've read other myths to help with this case to no avail. I still don't believe any of this is possible. Why would any of you have these 'creatures' in your possession? What makes you so special?" Sherlock asked. 

He sat across from Bill in their compartment, taking up both seats as he laid down. He checked the Internet every few minutes to read past reports done by the media. Sherlock was hoping it would give a reason that was eluding him. He listened to Bill with an open ear and made sure to compare it with what he already knew. Bill looked at him exasperation as if he was getting tired of his questions. Well, too bad. They hadn't even scratched the surface of his list of questions.  He hated to admit it, but the case was out his field of ability and he needed all the data he could get.

"Shame. Books are your best bet. The older, the better. In my case, John and I met by a not so nice 'incident'. Everyone's story is different." Bill explained.

"John didn't 'choose' you then if the myths have anything to go about."

"God, no. It’s a very long story, too long to tell you now. In short, I treated John from a fatal shot in the shoulder by another solider. I became good friends with him during the healing process."

Sherlock was curious about the story by the mixture of a grimace and wistful expression on Bill's face. He didn't push it since he could tell that he wouldn't get the story out of him now. He'd get out of him eventually though. He wasn't too sure why he felt the need to know so badly. It wouldn't become relevant to case in any way. It was his persistent 'John' problem again. Giving his head a quick shake, Sherlock stared out the window. The case. Think about the case and the clues.

Bill was the most probable provider for the last few clues that he needed. He could tell from the former cases that the robberies were closing the waiting periods between their crimes. It had cut down from three months to nearly less than a month. Most likely, the last stages of whatever reason they were stealing from specific people were coming into play. For the rest of the ride, Sherlock focused on the case and sorting out facts. He was slightly surprised that Bill didn't bother him with any tedious questions except for what kind of tea he liked. He found himself confused when it was bought and given to him. No one ever offered to buy him anything (Mycroft didn't count). Other than that, the ride was uneventful. 

Sherlock was so deep in thought that he barely felt the train stop at their destination. A poke to his shoulder snapped him out his thoughts. Bill motioned with his hand and Sherlock followed him off the train and into the station. He wasted no time taking Sherlock to the parking lot next to the station. Examining the car ( _Bentley '05, good condition, well-kept for_ ), he waited for Bill to open the door. Once in the car, he tuned out Bill's words as he took a look at the interior. It looked occasionally used ( _lack of wear and stains on leather, silver still clean_ ).

In the back, he could see the slight imprint of something heavy having lain across the seat. It could be the shape of a person (or a sandman with a heavy tail). Sherlock frowned and narrowed his eyes at the top of the seat, seeing blonde hairs glinting in the sun. They had to belong to John since Bill's hair was a dark auburn. 

"You take John for rides? I figured you would be more discreet than that." Sherlock said as Bill got in and started to drive to his home.

Bill glanced away from the road for a second to stare at Sherlock. He let out a breath, making sure he took the quickest route to the coast.

"I am very cautious. John gets bored and restless sometimes. So, I drive him around the city now and then. He enjoys seeing the sights. He once told me that he had never seen any modern cities up close. John compared it to the Ottoman Empire, Sherlock. He's centuries old and only in the most modern times they've had to hide or been ignored. What does it say about people now?"

"People are idiots and attack anything out the 'norm'. It’s an ever-present disease."

Bill glanced at Sherlock once more, staying silent on the matter. The rest of the drive was quiet going to the coast. Sherlock took in the scenery and thought of the route the thieves must have taken. The ones they were traveling to the coast were more sandy than paved. He frowned, realizing that any tracks would be completely untraceable. If they had indeed taken the same route, it would be too obvious. There were possibly a multitude of back roads and shortcuts near the area.

Not to mention the vehicle used to transport such a creature was most likely a truck. An unmarked van could work as it would be something no one would look twice at. It was much easier to assume work being done than a home invasion. Sherlock made a note to get a map of the area to work from. 

"Well, here we are. The outside is looking better than the inside right now." Bill said as he pulled into his driveway. 

The ocean was a good distance away from the home, partially visible through the sandy hills. There was a small winding path down towards it which was actually closer than any of the other homes. Bill's house was the last on the shore and the neighbors’ homes were just small specks in the distance. He could understand Bill's need for privacy with John around. Needless to say that no one heard a thing during the break in. Following Bill out the car, Sherlock took a good look at the home. It was a modest two-storied home compared to the others in the area. 

They walked into the house and Sherlock took it in with a small degree of interest. Everything was a mix of warm and neutral colors, giving it a very lived in feeling. Bill was neat in a fastidious way; the army ways hadn't left him even if he was now a civilian. He couldn't see any signs of anyone but Bill and John coming through the front door. The small mixture of auburn and blond hair on the hardwood were theirs.

"Do you have a back door?" Sherlock asked, running a hand over the sofa as he examined the furniture.

"No. The only 'back door' I have is the bay window in John's room. Before you ask, it’s only unlockable from the inside and John put a seal on it to prevent intruders.” Bill explained as he motioned for Sherlock to follow him.

"A seal?"

"Yeah, John infused a rune with some of his magic and poison to make it. It’s like a lock for his kind. He hasn't told me much about it other than how to make it."

"Interesting. I would like to see evidence of this and the process he goes through to make such a 'seal' as you say. The possibilities are endless after all."

Bill acknowledged Sherlock's words with a nod as he led him to the back of the house. They stopped in front of a solid oak door at the end of the hallway. Embedded on the surface were glass etchings of phrases and runes in a language that he couldn't make out. He could see some pieces of Dari and Pashto, but there were hieroglyphics ( _Egyptian? Sumerian?_ ) in others. The runes were completely unknown to him. Sherlock could only assume that they were purely from the sandfolk.

No humans could make such intricate runes in this day and age, especially with glass. Extending a hand to look at it closer, Bill stopped him with a soft grip of the wrist. The man had a stern look on his face and shook his head. 

"Don't touch that or you'll have one less hand to work with. The poison in there will make the flesh drip of your bones and turn said bones into ash. Not a very pretty sight. John's handiwork and security is serious. I'm the only one who has permission to touch it." he warned.

Bill touched a large rune that sat where the doorknob would be. He traced the outline of it before pressing the middle, the door unlocking and swinging open to let them in. Sherlock raised both eyebrows in disbelief and fascination at what he just saw and the warning. How did one manage to put delicate glass into a wooden door? Never in his entire life had he seen glass in such a bright brown. Poison usually wasn't any other color unless mixed with something. Whatever poison was in that glass was as dark as a black cherry. 

There was so much science and experiments to put to the test. He was already making a small closet in his Mind Palace for them all. But for now, there was a crime scene to observe. Bill had not joked around when he said the room had been destroyed. This wasn't like the other crimes scene he had seen in terms of destruction. Torn books littered the floor, ripped sheets and curtains and what once was a mattress was nothing more than a mess of feathery springs. The carpet on the floor seemed to been clawed and the wood underneath cracked and splintered by whatever stood there. 

Paintings that were hung on the walls were only ripped canvases and snapped frames. In all, everything looked at least replaceable. The one thing out the room that looked like it went through hell was the bay window. The glass was broken and the pane itself, what was left of it, melted. The lock used to open the window was gone with signs of being blown inwards as in an mini explosion. Some kind of turquoise substance covered the seating part of the window liberally, spatters of it dripping over the pane.

The same substance dried into the carpet below with a decent amount of translucent scales. Sherlock stood in the middle of it all as he tried to recreate the room in his mind. There had been a ferocious struggle and the destruction in the room was not deliberate unlike the other cases. Signs of the fighting could be seen by the few flecks of blood sprayed along the edge of the back wall. Another creature was used to help ( _broken green feathers_  [type of bird unknown], _heavy and sharp talons_ ,  _gouges in the floor and wall_ ) in the process. John fought, but was wounded in the struggle before being kidnapped. Walking over to the window, Sherlock snapped on latex gloves and slid a finger through the turquoise substance.

It was still wet and somewhat slimy with a faint metallic scent. He couldn't decipher what it was exactly. It would need testing. Taking samples of all the evidence in the room he deemed important, Sherlock was slightly startled by Bill's voice cutting through the silence. He forgot the man was there. 

"That's John's blood on the window." Bill said worriedly, staring at all the damage.

"What?" Sherlock whipped his head around before rubbing at the turquoise on his gloves together.

"The turquoise all over? Sandfolk's blood is turquoise. Apparently, it’s one of the few traits that they still share from their distant merfolk cousins from John's knowledge." Bill said.

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at the new found information. How fascinating. How else was John different from a human? Even among the debris, he could see the sandman was well-educated ( _books about Afghanistan_  [in the native tongue]) and a few broken artifacts that looked ancient. He was going to solve the case and with new evidence, he was closer than ever. Everything was coming together.

"Seems that your pet was stolen by an animal smuggling ring. All the creatures were taken while the owner was away or incapacitated. Their location was already known and each operation left little to no evidence. Very efficient and quite clever work. This isn't a simple smuggling ring either. Someone is in charge and getting to the end of their plan." he said, taking off his gloves.

Bill looked at him with a blank face at his deductions. Sherlock was used to it, but he knew he was right. There wasn't any way to track the criminals, so he would have to wait for them to strike again. After all, it was impossible to track who had a creature of lore. He took a last look around the crime scene and knew there was nothing more to glean from it. Questioning Bill how much he knew about other creatures, he fished his mobile out his pocket as it vibrated. 

**Another crime scene. Bloomsbury. Come now. GL**

Sherlock stared at the message and smirked. The criminals were definitely finishing up fast. He asked what was different of the crime scene compared to the others. It was something different for his presence being demanded and not asked for. 

**Dead body. Shot to the head and no visible weapon. Are you coming or not? GL**

**Who's on forensics? SH**

**Anderson. GL**

**He's an idiot. I'll be bringing my own assistant to the scene. SH**

Sherlock looked at Bill who waited patiently for him to end his business. Patience was good when dealing with him. Bill seemed like a people person and could handle his social interactions for the time being. A plus was that he was someone with medical expertise and still practicing. Lestrade would just have to deal with it. Anderson was more than useless.

"Mind taking me back to London? The smugglers struck again and I could use an assistant.” Sherlock said as he walked out the room. 

"Sure, I guess. I have unfinished business an- wait, what?" Bill said surprised as he stopped in his tracks.

"Another pet was stolen. Murder has occurred. You have medical training and want to get John back. I need someone with a bit of a brain. Do I have to spell it out for you?" Sherlock snapped, not stopping as he left the house. 

Bill stared after him in offended silence, wondering how he got such a backhanded compliment and debated on what to do. He hated to admit it, but Sherlock was right. Also, he didn't feel too comfortable sitting back and not doing anything. With a resigned sigh, he rushed upstairs to his bedroom to get some supplies. He wasn't sure how much he could help Sherlock, but he could try. Filling a bag, Bill ran outside to catch up with the detective.

The man was already in the car (he was sure he locked it) and texting furiously on his mobile. God, the things he did for John. He seriously owed him. He hefted the bag over his shoulder, getting in the car. He wasted no time of chit-chat as he got ready for their drive back to London.


	7. The Original Crime Scene Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, hits and comments! Seriously, I'm always surprised with the response that I get when I post a new chapter. Only three more chapters to get and everything will start coming to a head. 
> 
> On another note, I've started up a tumblr! Isn't that awesome? Well, at least I think so. Its a bit bare right now but it will be filled with info, fun facts and updates for my stories for now. And you can ask me whatever you like! Isn't that fun? 
> 
> So here's the link: (noxtorious.tumblr.com). Follow me, guys!

With the drive taking less time with the lack of traffic, Bill followed Sherlock's directions to the crime scene. Lestrade was waiting outside the flat complex with a tired expression on his face. Bill pulled up to the building as close as possible with it being roped off, luckily finding a parking space not too far away. He rather not have his car getting towed after all. Sherlock barely waited for the car to come to a complete stop before rushing out, making a bee line to Lestrade. Ignoring the exasperated look he was given, he was confident Bill was following behind him. He was there to deduce and only hoped Anderson didn't ruin the body.

"Sherlock? Who is this? You can't just bring strangers to a crime scene!" Lestrade snapped.

"He's not a stranger. He's my assistant and a military man. Frankly, more help than you and your lot of idiots." Sherlock grumbled in reply, waiting for Lestrade to lead him in.

As if to diffuse the soon to come argument, Bill moved smoothly to Sherlock's side and extended a hand to Lestrade. With a disarmingly handsome smile that could rival Sherlock's (he was not impressed), he was the picture of innocence. Sherlock could practically feel the good intentions rolling off Bill. It was disgusting. Lestrade swore up and down that he was not charmed at the smile. He was on duty and every picture of a stern DI.

"Bill Murray, ex-RAMC nurse at your service. Mr. Holmes asked me for assistance based of my medical knowledge. I promise no trouble, Detective Inspector." Bill said.

Lestrade realized he was staring too long and flushed. He cleared his throat in embarrassment as he shook the extended hand. Bill had to be as strange as Sherlock to willingly be around him. For all he knew, he could be one of Sherlock's clients. Unfortunately, he needed Sherlock's help and the man would likely throw a strop if he denied Bill access. God, the things he let Sherlock get away with.

"Lestrade. Nice to make your acquaintance. Alright, you two, follow me."

With that, the three made their way into the complex. They took the lift to the penthouse where they were greeted by the sight of Lestrade's team bustling about. Sherlock didn't bother to speak to anyone as he made his way to the body with a slight protest by Anderson. He ignored him as he looked closer with his magnifier. The dead man was slumped on the side of the sofa with a bullet going clean through the back of his skull. Other than the body, the living area was pristine. Unlike the other crime scenes, it could almost be labeled as a suicide if one didn't know what to look for. 

Was it an in and out job? What kind of creature was taken? More importantly, where was the bullet? Sherlock bent down near the puddle of blood, smearing it to look for the bullet. It had to be in the floor covered by the blood. 

"Bill, come examine the body." he said, smirking once he found the bullet wedged between the grooves of the hardwood floor.

Said military man was standing off to the side, keeping his promise. He wasn't going to interfere with official Yard business. He was doing his own examination of the flat. The aura of the whole place was somewhat unsettling. It was a little oppressive and unnerving. It was like trying to lull someone into a false sense of security with your fingers crossed behind your back. Hearing his name called once more, he snapped out his own thoughts. Looking at Lestrade for confirmation, he smiled at the nod. He took the latex gloves from the DI's outstretched hand and made his way over to the body. 

"What am I looking for exactly?"

"Not anything on the body. The trajectory of the bullet." Sherlock handed him the misshapen bullet. "Know what kind of sniper rifle this would be from to make a shot from such a distance?"

Bill studied the bullet for a moment before shaking his head. He was never too good with the sniper rifles. He handed the bullet back before going to the window on the other side of the room. It was cracked, a neat little hole left from where the bullet traveled. Pushing it open and looking outside, he looked at the adjacent buildings. All of them were too short for a sniper's nest and the rest was open air for pretty good distance. Bill then wondered if a sniper could ride on a flying creature and take the shot. 

It wasn't impossible. Even so, such a shot with that kind of distance and wind turbulence would be damn hard. As he was about to turn back to give his findings, a bright light caught his eye. Bill leaned out the window, ignoring the cries of shock behind him. He squinted and saw on one of the roof further away was a fiery red feather. He had only heard a few stories of sightings, but didn't think he would see actual proof. 

"Found something useful or trying to convince the officers you've suddenly become suicidal?" Sherlock asked as he came to stand beside him. 

He tried to follow his gaze, but couldn't fathom what caught his eye. 

"Shut it, there's a phoenix feather down on one of the roofs. It’s almost burned away by its own fire. It’s beautiful. I would have never thought-anyway, the sniper took the shot on it."

Sherlock looked at the nurse with a raised eyebrow. He doubted that someone could do that. The winds were turbulent on the twentieth floor and the sniper would have to compensate for a very off shot. Then again, it wasn't impossible. None of the other buildings were as high. That didn't explain the phoenix theory. How could Bill have narrowed it down so quickly? He had a scratching remark ready when Bill subtlety pointed to the thing he was gushing about.

Sherlock's eyes widened in disbelief (and wasn't he doing that a lot lately?) as the feather burned into red ashes before his eyes. Fire couldn't burn itself like that or sustain for such a long time without catching anything else on fire. He had to look at Bill for confirmation for what he saw and got an excited grin in return. It was still a strange sight to see a grin without mocking or malice behind it. Just a purely exciting grin at finding something new.

"What have you got, Sherlock? I need anything you found."

Turning his head, Sherlock figured he should tell Lestrade all that he found. Nothing at this crime scene told him anything more about the smugglers. Giving Bill a look, he was glad the man figured out what he conveyed and went to go look for more evidence. 

"Here's your missing bullet." Sherlock handed the small evidence bag to Lestrade. "Don't bother looking for the gunman. He's long gone by now. This man was a victim of the smugglers like the other four. This was a rush job. Whatever was taken wasn't able to put up much of a fight. They were very careful on leaving no trace this time.  I'm assuming new orders have been given."

"Oh and how are you going to explain how they escaped, genius?" Anderson said from the other side of the room.

"The window, obviously. How much brain power does it take you to speak? You dumb down the room with just one word." he said, rolling his eyes when Anderson sputtered in anger.

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose and put a hand up to stop Sherlock before he really got revved up. He did not have time for it today. He just wanted to close this case. 

"Enough. Just give it to me straight. Are you closer to solving this or not?"

"I'll have their relative location soon."

"Good. Now go away before you give me a migraine."

Sherlock chuckled as Lestrade dismissed him. Wasn't he the one who asked him to come and look at the scene? Seeing Bill stop and talk to Lestrade (he was  **not**  impressed by that smile), he called for the lift to come back up. Bill finally made his way over with a satisfied look on his face, but wouldn't say what he found. He would find out when they got outside. With a parting shot at Anderson's intelligence, the two took the lift back down to the street.

"What did you find?"

"Not yet. I show you now and it'd explode when the sunlight hits it."

Sherlock was more than intrigued now. What was so special about the evidence? Was it like the phoenix feather? In an uncharacteristic display of patience, the detective waited for them to ride back to Baker Street. He gave Bill the directions again and the best place for a parking space before bullying him into 221B. They didn't make it all the way up once Ms. Hudson poked her head out her flat. She saw Sherlock dragging an indignant Bill by his bag up the stairs and made a tutting sound. 

"Always making such a fuss, Sherlock. Still on your case?" she asked. 

"Yes, Ms. Hudson. You remember Mr. Murray from the week before. We'll be upstairs working on the case." Sherlock said dismissively. 

"Oh you boys do what you need to without me in the way. I'll bring up some tea and biscuits. I know there isn't any edible in the fridge up there, Sherlock."

Bill covered a laugh with his hand, nearly getting choked with his own bag for the trouble. Sherlock dragged him up to the flat and closed the door behind them. He let go of the bag and allowed him to sit in the armchair before rounding on him. 

"Now show me what you found."

"Hold on." Bill opened his bag and pulled out the item he wrapped in a dishcloth. He pulled it open to show a piece of a curvy black horn. It was an unnatural black, a color so deep that it had a strange sheen to it. The horn looked like glossy and rubbed with oil so it shined in the light. "It's an incubus horn. It probably broke off during the kidnapping."

Sherlock took it carefully and startled that it was warm to the touch. He ran his fingers over it and wondered how it could radiate heat. How could a piece of bone be warm? It defied the laws of science. The horn itself had a hard texture but upon squeezing it, it tried to mold over his fingers with a silky caress. Remembering the few stories he had read during the investigation, nothing had even hinted on something like this. 

"Do you know anything about the species?" Sherlock asked as tried to figure how the horn kept its sheen.

"Depends on what you would like to know. Aren't you supposed to try to find where the smugglers are dropping off the kidnapped?"

Sherlock frowned at the information, handing the horn back. He did have to work it out. The time frames between crimes were getting painfully short. It was such an unfortunate circumstance. He got Bill to sit quietly as he got to work. Hours passed with Sherlock transforming the wall behind the sofa into his own playground. Color coded tacks and string connected files and papers on the wall. The outside world was non-existent as he tried to pinpoint the base of operations. Ms. Hudson had come up twice with tea and biscuits, playing hostess to Bill. He shooed her away later in the night as the conversation the two were having was starting to become distracting.

Bill had been some help (handing Sherlock thumbtacks, asking questions, making tea and sending texts) and was very quiet. He never thought someone would actually be...helpful. Bill wasn't a complete idiot but knew what he was talking about when it came to certain topics. He even managed to make him laugh a few times to Sherlock's surprise. Placing a few more thumbtacks on the giant map of London he had, he stared at it. What was he missing? Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, running over the facts again. All crime scenes were left in complete disarray, the owners injured, away, or more recently, murdered.

The operations were efficient and quick, not drawing attention from neighbors or family. The smugglers used a flying creature or fast ground vehicle for transport. The kidnappings started in the city and started going further down (Bill's case being the lowest point on the map). The answer was staring him in the face. Such a large smuggling ring would never work in the city.

"They need a place with easy transport, but lots of privacy. Somewhere people won't even think to lo-oh. Oh. Clever. The Yard would have never picked it up, but I did." Sherlock said as he clapped his hands together in glee. 

Ignoring the questioning look from Bill (playing some silly handheld video game), Sherlock texted his findings with a grin as he flopped down on the couch. Sometimes, he even impressed himself with his deductions. 

"So what did you figure out, oh great genius?" Bill teased.

Sherlock gave the man a look that could peel paint, but was thrown by the grin. He was only teasing him. There wasn't even a hint of mocking in his expression. Interesting. He folded his arms and got more comfortable on the sofa before giving a triumphant smirk at his findings.

"They thought they could hide from me. The smugglers need a large storage system for their cargo without drawing attention. Depending on what they are doing with these creatures, they wouldn't dare use cars. Most of these things are supposedly bigger than the average van or truck. Docks with large shipping container ships would be needed for the space and making the next transaction. They would use docks closer to other countries where another drop off point would be. Who has big ports and is closest to the nearest country? Liverpool. It’s a short distance to Ireland from there and a ferry runs between them and Dublin. It wouldn't take much money for a ring to get a blind eye turned their way to run their ships back and forth."

"Well shit, you'd give Nancy Drew a run for her money, mate." Bill said as he looked up his game, amazed.

Only Sherlock would have been able to figure out something like that from such little evidence. The man was simply brilliant even with the attitude problem. He wouldn't give him too many compliments though. His ego seemed pretty big already. The detective was already radiating enough smugness to power a whole city block about now. Still, this meant that they were closer to saving John. He could only hope that he wasn't shipped off yet.

"There are a decent amount ports there. Not to mention, there would be no way to search them without getting it right the first time. We could get it wrong and alert them. How will you know you got it right?" Bill asked with a serious look on his face.

Sherlock saw the look and seemed to get excited at the thought of being so close to finishing his puzzle. "We wait for them to strike again."


	8. New Findings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of these harder chapters again unforunately. But, I think I plowed through it in enough time. On the other hand, I was trying to balance this and writing some more stuff for Jewels and Gems. I'll probably be putting a chapter up for this after this is up. 
> 
> I'm still suprised for all the kudos and comments that I get. It makes me feel all warm inside. Though I don't answer comments until like days later, I'm generally on my Tumblr more. So feel free to ask questions there and all that good stuff. I want to hear what people think after all. Remember, its noxtorious.tumblr.com. I'd love to hear from everyone.

It was the waiting that was the worst. Sherlock figured he could try to narrow the number of ports down to no avail. Even looking into the shipping companies in the area had led to no search of illegal activity. Whoever was behind the ring was thorough on covering their tracks. Sherlock’s couldn't help it, but it impressed him. It wasn't many people that could deter him. Then again, he gave himself a little leeway.

This was a subject he had little to no knowledge. If someone would have told him that magical creatures were real to him a week ago, he would have laughed in their face. To that aspect, Bill was a bigger help than he liked to admit. He wasn't like the other idiots he had to deal with at the Yard. He did tease Sherlock, but it was never malicious or insulting. He had offered for Bill to stay in Baker Street until the case finished.

To his surprise, Bill had agreed. Now more often than not as the days passed, he found himself making jokes back and laughing. It was a different and unlikely thing to happen to him with a person. Sherlock had even asked why he treated him such a way. No one wanted to be in Sherlock's company for long. The response that Bill gave was simple, made in passing while he forced Sherlock to eat the breakfast he was making.

"You're a dick most of the time, but a brilliant dick. You’re also brutally honest. I don't mind it is all. Now pass me that egg, Nancy Drew."

Sherlock didn't pass him the egg as he wasn't going to eat in the first place. Still, a small warmth flowed through his chest at those words. Even the nickname was tolerable (even if he was better than some teenage girl) and the extended company. At the moment, Sherlock was researching any kind of clue that would put them on the right track. With the cross-referencing on books and the knowledge Bill had, he was gaining more data. It was just finding out the proper way to use it. All in all, it was still fascinating to learn about.

"How did you come to acquire all this information? I doubt the majority of the world would even consider documenting such a thing." Sherlock asked, typing away on his laptop.

Bill looked away from the show he was watching at the question. He was sitting sideways in the extra armchair and balancing a cup of lukewarm tea on his stomach. He figured that Sherlock had finished, but obviously not.

"Huh? Oh that. A nice old Afghan lady told me a few things. She told me about the creatures she's seen and met. She also told me that most hide in plain sight and exist with who they want to. Here, I've been compiling a book of everything I've learned. Most of the book is blank, but the creatures I've met have been more than willing to share with me. More often than not, they're surprised a human wants to talk to them and don't run away screaming.” Bill said. 

Placing his tea cup on the table, he reached into his bag to take out said book. He tossed it over to Sherlock who caught it and put his laptop to the side. "In person, I've only met two other people. One was in Kandahar while I was still serving. I had met a traveling merchant woman who was friends with an [akheknu](http://www.mythicalcreatureslist.com/mythical-creature/Akhekhu) who was nice compared to the stories. The other was an old man who owned a stable while I was on vacation in Normandy. His family had been in charge of taking care of the [Horses of the Sun](http://www.theequinest.com/horses-of-helios/). They weren't too interested in talking until I told I used to be an army nurse."

Sherlock took in Bill's explanation as he looked through the book with a keen eye. The man had bought a custom book binding ( _expensive and well cared for, silver embossed lettering and soft blue pebbled leather_ ) to keep everything in. He ran his fingers over the title 'Mystical Beings' in Dari and English in the front. Thumbing through the pages, he read Bill's findings and small drawings of what he had encountered. By far, the most extensive entry was about the sandfolk. It was tempting to read through it all, but he wanted to do his own examination on John. 

It was even hard to wrap his head around the smaller things he's investigated. The samples he had taken from the crime scene were no use since concluded to be unknown substances. Even the blood he had gotten from Bill's house didn't show up in the police database. As a man of science, there had to be a reasonable explanation of everything. Sherlock needed to see physical proof for himself. He needed to touch one of the creatures with his own hands.

It would help him prove his own theories.  Still, the book was somewhat helpful and he was going to put it to good use. Sherlock gathered the book and laptop into his arm, going to his desk to work. He ignored Bill's warning to be careful with his book and focused on his research. Bill shook his head as he watched Sherlock go into 'work mode' and drop the conversation. Being with the detective for at least a week got him used to some of his strange habits.

Sherlock was helping him get John back and would he continue to assist as well as he could. He wouldn't say he was Sherlock's friend just yet. But, he could say they were going a sort of easy kinship. He would dwell on the thought later seeing as Sherlock could call him to do something ridiculous for him at any time. The experiment with the rat eyeballs a few days ago still made him squeamish. 

"Going to make some tea. Want some?"

"I need to focus. Be quiet and go play one of your silly video games."

Bill rolled his eyes as the command. "As you wish. Just be careful with my book."

With that, Bill left Sherlock to his own devices. He made sure to stay out his way (only once dragging the detective outside for lunch) since the man acted like he didn't need to eat. Other than that distraction, Sherlock used Bill to collect books around the flat with the data he was gathering. He was one the verge of a breakthrough. He was so close to the answer he could taste it. 

"Your book is devoid of any creatures that have wings. Even the ones you've found in Normandy are pulling through the power of Apollo and Helios's chariots." Sherlock said as he finished up a myth on a winged demon. 

Bill startled at Sherlock's voice, dropping his water glass onto the floor. Ignoring the cursing directed at him, he waited for his answer. 

"Warn a guy before you speak from the abyss." Bill bent down to clean the spill off the floor. "That's only because I haven't seen any. I'd assume that something with wings needs a big open space. Or, at least lived with someone who has a huge house and some private land."

"Living in the country? Tedious."

"It is, but it makes life easy. Come on, Nancy Drew. Depending on how big they are, you need some kind of private or enclosed space. You saw how far my house was away from the neighbors."

"To hide John even if someone spotted you? They would think it was just another person."

"Exactly. I don't need pe-" Bill found himself cut off as Sherlock leap up from his seat. 

The detective went to the bookcase and stared to throw books onto the floor. He didn't explain what he was doing until he found what he was looking for. Turning to Bill, he turned the paperback in his hand to the back cover. 

"Once again, your rambling has helped. This book on botany written by famed botanist, Penny Damaske is the clue. The book itself was repetitive, but she talked about a large animal she called Chara who loved to fly in her garden. She never describes it in detail, but says it 'one of a kind'."

Sherlock became increasingly more excited as he rattled off his deductions. He just figured out where the robbers would strike next. Bill stared at him in confusion at the info. He wasn't speaking another language. It was an easy concept to grasp. With an annoyed sigh, Sherlock threw the book into Bill's lap.  He went to laptop to look up the woman's address. They needed to be on the move soon anyhow. 

"She lives in a Liverpool suburbia area nowhere near any neighbors. Apparently, she jokingly said her pet was the size of a small horse. We need to get there to stop the smugglers." Sherlock said, saving the address onto his phone. 

He grabbed his coat, more than ready to go out. Bill scrambled after him with questions on the tip of his tongue. Sherlock barely bother explaining the details on a normal day. It would take far too long. They needed to get to Liverpool as soon as possible. Waving off a question, Sherlock told Bill to get his car so they could go. Bill gave him an annoyed grumbled, but obeyed. He could tell that their time was running short. He just hoped that they got to the woman's house before the creature got captured.


	9. I Think A Sphinx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this if this a little dialogue heavy but lots of things happen in this chapter. But guess what? Only three more chapters to go and I have Chapter 10 already a quarter written. I'm actually making some progress.

Sherlock texted Lestrade his findings as they made the drive to Liverpool. The one upside to having a car was not having to take a cab. He didn't have to pull out extra notes to urge the driver to go faster. Bill was doing a decent job of driving as fast as possible. He had a determined look on his face, not bothering to talk to Sherlock. He had figured the man would have at least one question. Well, he was better off with silence. Sherlock could think and give directions at the same time.

If his theory was correct, they would catch the smugglers in the act. Lestrade would come, arrest them and then take them for questioning. He would be able to meet one of the creatures he read about. In all, he could have the case wrapped up in the next day or so. Staring out the window, he could feel the anticipation roll through him. He was close to finally meeting John.

Mysterious John that took too much of his thinking process. The same John who Bill told interesting stories about. He still didn't know how the two met. Bill was tight lipped on the subject, promising that it was a story that was better told with John present. Boring. He gave Bill more directions as he pondered on what kind of creature he would see.

 

________________________

 

Of course, as with everything that had to do with Sherlock's life, things went straight to shit. They walked into the robbery as Sherlock predicted, but to a scene the detective had trouble processing. A sphinx was fighting off three dark clothed men to get it in a wheeled cage. A fourth was on the floor near the doorway with half his face eroded away by some kind of acid. The creature let out defiant screeches with its snake head tail trying to bite the intruders if they got too close. The fight was brutal even if they had had the element of surprise on their side.

Sherlock had a large bruise on his cheek from a well thrown punch and a sore shoulder from getting thrown to the floor. He could see that Bill had trouble breathing, which wasn't surprising with the punches he took to his ribs. He had been in worst fights, but it irked him the suspects escaped. Bill groaned as he sat on the couch, testing his ribs for damage once he checked Sherlock's injuries. He hadn't been in a fight like that since the army.

"The smugglers said that 'Moriarty' would be livid. Know anything about that?" Bill asked.

"No. Intriguing, but not important right now." Sherlock said, more than distracted by the creature.

The sphinx _(Greek origin, human female head and torso, lioness body and large bird wings with dark green fur and feathers)_ looked shaken. It had sable skin _(unheard of for London's climate)_ and a serpent tail _(correction: a tail with a functional snake's head? Able to control or sentient unknown)_ compose itself and smooth down its ruffled appearance. Sherlock caught curious red eyes looking at him and desperately wanted to touch. It wasn't like anything that he had imagined. The sphinx was as big as a true lion on all fours. To his calculations, it would be at least Bill's height on its hind legs.

"Thank you, gentlemen for saving me. I had forgotten how rude you humans could be. Though I wished you could have come sooner to save my darling companion. " the creature said with a moderately heavy Greek accent, sparing a glance to the kitchen.

A pair of feminine legs stuck out in view, a pool of blood cooling on the floor. "She was such a sweet human woman."

"May we ask your name? I'm Bill Murray and the man who is looks like he wants to dissect you is Sherlock Holmes. I'm sorry for your loss." Bill said, startled as the sphinx came and sat in front of him.

"Nice to meet you. My true name has no translation in this modern language, but my human called me Chara. You smell of the sandfolk. I am intrigued you know of creatures like us." She smiled before giving turning to give Sherlock a cheeky wink. "Your friend has never seen one of us before, has he? I can smell it. Come closer, pup. You can touch me."

Sherlock blinked in surprise at the human face that stared back at him. Well, he did have permission. Sherlock took careful steps over before taking a seat next to Bill. His hand held a light tremble as he placed it on Chara's back. The transition from human to lioness to wings was seamless. He cataloged all his deductions to himself, taking the time to process.

Chara chuckled at Sherlock's attention, purring at the sensations. Bill could only roll his eyes as he wondered what Sherlock could possibly be thinking about.

"He'll be out for a minute. He's no doubt in his 'Mind Palace' or whatever. Mind if I ask you some questions, Chara?"

"Not at all, pup. I consider it a treat. We Strangers don't really bother with your kind anymore unless by chance."

Bill took out his book and a pen, not writing just yet. The phrase confused him. Strangers? He heard John use the term once, but he couldn't remember where.

"Strangers?"

Chara nodded, leaning on the couch and folding her arms across her chest. "Creatures like me. The ones you humans put off in your paper books and forgot. We are not like you after all. We are other. Things that don't die or go into slumber when tired of the constraints of time. Strangers."

"Fascinating. So you just...leave humans alone now?"

"Of course, pup. You humans are smart, but stupid. You make these wonderful contraptions, always adapting, always learning. Yet, you are not like the humans of past who believed in us. Sought us out. This...new world is not for us. So, we Strangers keep to ourselves and interact with who we please."

Bill nodded quietly at the solemn look on Chara's face. He figured it would be better to move onto happier topics. He didn't know how much time had passed until he was interrupted in a middle of question. Sherlock realized that he moved from examining to petting the sphinx. He removed his hand and ignored the disappointed whine Chara let out. Sherlock knew they were wasting precious time.

The men were long gone, but they could still catch them. Plus, there were bodies that needed taking care off. They were in Liverpool already and could check the docks if they were quick enough. They had some help to make the hunt a bit easier. He turned his attention to Chara and looked down where he found himself with a lap full of a curled up snake tail. Considering the melted face of the intruder, Sherlock figured he should approach her with care.

"I have a request to ask of you. It is for your help." Sherlock said as he stroked the snake head with a tentative hand, earning a lick from it.

Chara looked at Sherlock curiously at the ask of help. "What would my help entail, pup? And don't stop your hands. I quite enjoyed your nimble fingers." she teased.

Sherlock told himself he was not embarrassed. He ignored Bill's snickering to do what she asked. It seemed he was doing a good job as Chara let out a hum of delight.

"I assume that you have a enhanced sense of smell and could lead us to your attackers. They have been taking creatures like you and I believe their base is at the docks."

Chara let a growl, remembering how humans attacked her in her home. They even killed her longtime human friend. She could only imagine how the other Strangers were suffering. Taking a calming breath, she nodded.

"I can give you the help you need. These humans must know things they should not to capture us so easily." She frowned, staring at the mobile that Sherlock took in his hand. "But, I cannot help sufficiently without causing panic. Flying would run the risk of being seen and I can't walk the streets. Do you have any way of transportation, pup?"

The sphinx was right, of course. Sherlock couldn't believe he had not thought of it. People would panic and that would get them nowhere fast. Tedious and time consuming. They needed help and who else but Scotland Yard? He did have a break in the case and technically a murder. Sherlock rather get the case finished but he knew they would need more than two people. First, he needed to make sure everything would be fine.

"Do you mind that more humans seeing and knowing about your existence?"

"No. A few more humans do not make a difference to me. It’s been centuries since I've been close to so many."

Good. He didn't want some kind of problem. Sherlock could feel excitement of closing a case creeping upon him. A smirk worked its way onto his face as he texted Lestrade the address again and the information first. That was just to get Lestrade to not ask the obvious questions when he arrived. The second text was the most important one anyway.

**Bring only your team and an extra squad car. I have a witness and help to close the case. SH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangers - a term used by all mythological creatures to describe themselves other than species


	10. Waiting For Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied about John being in this chapter. This was mostly my fault. I misnumbered my chapters and all that jazz. But, Chapter 11 is halfway done. Hopefully, I'll have it up during the weekend.

Sherlock was fascinated with his newest experiment. Chara was an interesting study as far as he was concerned. He used his magnifier to go along her body, cataloging all he saw. The sphinx had been nice enough to find him a notebook and a pen so he could write down his findings. Bill wouldn't share his book, complaining that Sherlock's writing was horrible. Making himself more comfortable on the floor, Sherlock examined the scales of her tail. She seemed to be a mixture of different species.

"Slow down, pup. I'm not going anywhere. I'll answer all your questions." Chara said, resting her head on the seat of the sofa.

Sherlock nodded, full of unasked questions. How did she reproduce? How far could she fly? Did male sphinxes exist? All the questions to ask and too little time for them to fulfilled. He extended his hand for a baggie, wanting to collect samples. The sphinx laughed at him, amused but gave Sherlock some fur, scales and feathers. She found his movements funny. Never had she met such an inquisitive human.

"Sherlock, are you even listening to me?"

Sherlock didn't so much as glance at Bill, jotting down notes in his notebook. "If it is about smugglers, then no. You enjoyed the fight after all. That smuggler won't be breathing properly for a while. Military training came in handy after all."

"I was a nurse, you twat! I did the medical aspect like holding soldiers together."

Sherlock made a sound of acknowledgement, but otherwise tuned Bill out. Bill tried to get his attention, but it was no use. Both men didn't even realize the sphinx giggling at their little tiff. Bill grumbled and started to organize his own notes, listening as Chara answered Sherlock's questions. Sherlock had taken out his penlight and shined it into Chara's eyes. Her eyes were human enough but dilated into cat-like slits at the brightness. She took the penlight from him and examined it, making soft chirping sounds.

If he was correct, he was sure the sphinx had more than excellent night vision. Though he was startled once the light was shined back into his own eyes. Chara let out a chirp of delight and proceeded to wave the light around.

"You are funny, pups. Like play fighting in the nest. You should be lucky, young pup. Most of my kind wouldn't take kindly to this inspection. They would eat you up." she said as she continued to play with the light.

Instead of looking frightened at the prospect of being eaten, Sherlock looked delighted. "Literally?"

"Of course. One of your humans wrote that down, didn't they?" she asked.

Bill decided for his best interest to steer the topic elsewhere. Last thing he wanted to hear was the eating habits on humans when it came to sphinxes. Sherlock could get the information later. Just not when he was around. He would love not to be in hearing distance. Lord knows what Sherlock would do with the knowledge. He relocated himself to the floor, leaning next to Chara.

Chara noticed the relocation and stopped playing the penlight. She gave it to her snake head who took it with glee, rolling it around on the floor. Chara waved her hand at Bill to ask his questions. Sherlock did look put out, but went to observe the snake head instead.

"Do all sphinxes have the same type of body? “he asked.

Chara shook her head. "Not at all. Only our feline parts are the same. Our wings and tail as unique in every way. Even our human parts are different, just like your species."

"Amazing. Mind me asking how you got your unique assets then?"

"I have the feathers of the cuckoo bird from my brood mother. My lovely complexion is from my father."

Bill nodded as he continued to write and asked a few more questions. He learned Chara had been alive since Nero's rule of the Roman Empire, she liked learning about humans and was partial to eating one. She then explained that if they hadn't stayed, she would have eaten the smuggler she had killed. In a sense, it was not reassuring but affirmed that while playful, she was(is) the most dangerous thing in the room. Even more unsettling was that she well aware of that fact. As their conversation started to stray to how Chara came to Liverpool, Sherlock decided to interrupt. He sat in front of Chara with a frown on his face.

"Did you hear anything that the smugglers said, Chara? A certain DI doesn't think my findings are coming from a 'valid' source." Sherlock said, glaring as his mobile as he sent a text.

Chara looked confused, but went quiet in thought. She was silent for a few minutes before staring at Sherlock with a frown. She didn't think anything of it, but thought it would be important to the detective.

"Before they tried to force me into that infernal cage, they were talking about a warehouse on the docks. One of the men said that the next drop off point would Ireland. They never designated a leaving time." she said.

That meant they could catch them before the drop off. They would be busy licking their wounds to do any kind of operation tonight. Plus, not getting the sphinx they wanted had to be a huge setback. There was still enough time. Feeling his mobile vibrate, Sherlock looked down at the text he received.

**Coming in. For the love of everything sacred, please tell you haven't touched anything. GL**

Well, that was rude. Of course, he touched the majority of things with gloves on. It wasn't like he was going to touch the dead bodies and leave his DNA. Sherlock sent an affirmation before pocketing his mobile. He then produced a tape measure from who knows where. He showed it to Chara before motioning to her wings.

"May I measure your wingspan?"

\----------------------------------------

 

'It could have been worse.' ,thought Bill as the Yard came rushing into the house.

Someone had let out a scream at seeing Chara lazing about on the floor. She looked at them with curiosity, but was far more interested in braiding her hair. She had coaxed Sherlock into cleaning her feathers, allowing him to get an in-depth analysis of her wings. The members of the Yard had various looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. Bill knew what it was like to see something that wasn't supposed to 'exist' according to stories. He guess that he had it good since John was the least strange of the creatures that he could have encountered. He wasn't sure how he would have managed with something like a sphinx.

Lestrade seemed to be the first to get his wits together. "What in the bloody hell is that?"

Sherlock rolled her eyes, lifting his head to stare at the group. He didn't stare for long as he brushed Chara's primary feathers.

"A sphinx of Greek origins. Fairly obvious, Lestrade. Next."

"And I am not a what, pup. The questions is who am I. To answer that question, I am Chara and I'll be helping you catch your smugglers." the sphinx said in an offended huff.

Lestrade wasn't the only one who jumped when the thi-Chara spoke. Only Sherlock would be able to find something so outrageous. Oh God, that meant all the other cases had to be true too. Lestrade put his face in his hands. He didn't know what to think anymore. Donovan seemed to be the brave one out the bunch. Taking a step forward, she put a hand on her hips. She knew it had to be one of Sherlock's tricks.

"Knock it off, Freak. I don't know how you did but it's not funny. This is a crime scene after all. Bad enough you and your follower were here unsupervised. This is just insane." she snapped.

Bill was annoyed and offended. He and Donovan never hit off from the start. After he turned her advances down and mistakenly insulted her, things went sour fast. He felt like she was always overcompensating for something. What really sealed it was insulting Sherlock so brazenly and the nasty remarks while their backs were turned. He closed his book and glared at her from his seat.

"Wow, who died and made you queen? Chara is quite real and knowledgeable unlike some people." he said, not backing down as she glared at him.

Donovan then rolled her eyes with scoff, standing her ground. "Prove it."

Chara looked at Bill who shrugged in response. As long as she didn't eat Donovan (apparently humans tasted like chocolate to sphinxes), she could do what she pleased. Smiling, she rose on all fours and closed the distance between her and the sergeant. Donovan betrayed her false bravery as she took a step back once the sphinx was in front of her. The sphinx reached up and ran a hand down the lapel of Donovan's jacket. She plucked the badge off, poking at it curiously. Her snake head slithered beside her, baring fangs in warning from being rude. Chara chirped, throwing the badge to the floor and sliding past her.

She took extra care to brush along her side. The sergeant went rigid at the touch and took in a sharp gasp. The sphinx seemed all too real to Donovan now. Chara ignored her as she stopped to stand in front of Lestrade. She lifted his face from his hands with a finger on his chin. She chuckled and couldn't help blowing a kiss to him. He was adorable. Lestrade looked flustered and had to clear his throat to compose himself. He found himself jumping once more as she grabbed his arm with a fanged smile. The fur and skin against his arm felt warm and real.

"You seem to be the leader of your little band of humans. My, you’re cute. What is your name, darling?" she asked.

Lestrade quickly introduced himself with a tentative smile, not sure how to respond. Chara continued to flirt as she explained how she would help. But, on the condition she would be able to ride with Lestrade and her rescuers. She had never been a car before. With the negotiations in order, Lestrade had to split his team. He told Anderson to stay and process the scene with half the team. He would take Donovan and the other half to go find and arrest the smugglers. Making sure the orders were in place, the small group headed out to the cars.

Lestrade was glad that he had opted to taking the police van, assuming they would be carting a lot of smugglers. He told Sherlock to get in the front, not trusting him with a dangerous creature. He wasn't sure how he lasted so long. Either Bill had soften the blows or even more terrifying, Chara had taken a shine to him. Truthfully, he wasn't sure which one was worse. Lestrade took a calming breath, watching as Bill helped Chara into the vehicle.

She cooed in delight and ran her hands along every surface. She even went so far to lick one of the back windows. Bill laughed and was the one to explain the mechanics of the van to her. That was all nice and dandy, but it was time to get serious. He waited until he saw the rest of the team get in the other squad car before driving off.

"Sherlock, I need you to use that big brain of yours to find the fastest route to the docks. Bill, keep a lookout to make sure we stay together and man the radio? And um...Chara, you can enjoy the ride for what it’s worth." Lestrade said, ear open to Sherlock's oncoming directions.

"Oh I intend to, DI. You humans build the most intriguing things." Chara replied cheerfully, having found the window button.

Wondering if it was too late to retire, Lestrade focused on driving. Sherlock gave him directions in the snarkiest way possible, Bill played telephone between both cars and Chara pushed all the buttons she could find. She even found time to flirt with Lestrade. Their hadn’t been a more weird and stressful car ride in history.

It was saying something from a man with two kids. As they got close, Sherlock looked more like a kid in a candy store. He was going to be able to see more mythical creatures. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to study them. But, he was anticipating of what he would see.

He would actually be able to meet John soon enough.


	11. Warehouse Showdown

Lestrade wasn't sure how they made it, but they had gotten to the docks with ease. They exited the cars, hiding them closer to the street as to go undetected. Sherlock seemed to think he was in charge as he went up to Chara to tell her to get started. She had been reluctant to get out the van at first. But at stepping foot on the dock, her whole demeanor changed. Her fur bristled and a growl worked up into her chest before she calmed. Raising her head into the air, she sniffed every few seconds before turning her head to the left.

"I can smell other Strangers and those men here. I will eat the one who killed my darling friend." she snarled.

Bill put a gentle hand on her shoulder. The Yarders looked horrified at the statement. Sherlock looked like he wanted to let it happen and take notes.

"That you can't do. They have to be prosecuted. Also, I think Lestrade wouldn't be able to explain that in a report." he said.

Chara looked disappointed. "Not even an arm? You still take him to human jail with one less arm."

"Not even that. Would you lead us to the right warehouse?" Sherlock interrupted.

Chara nodded and strode between Sherlock and Bill, sniffing the air. She led the group deeper into the docks to a row of garage sized warehouses. The last one near a bunch of shipping containers had lights on. There was one man standing in front of the door with a gun strapped to his side, guarding the door. Lestrade gave the signal to spread out, keeping Sherlock and Bill with him.

"Is this the place?" he asked.

Chara nodded and growled, her hands clenching into fists with the urge to kill. Lestrade spoke over the radio, telling his team to secure the area. He gave the orders to find a back entrance, subdue anyone suspicious and wait for his signal to enter. They had to avoid detection.

"I can be your shield. Guns are useless against me. I wouldn't want any humans to get hurt. Your fleshly bodies aren't equipped for that. You'll be able to get in and I'll be right behind you." she said.

"We would need that gun. It would be suicide to go in unarmed. Could you knock him out without killing him?" Sherlock asked.

He was already mentally weighing the options of there being more men inside. More armed men, though they would be caught off guard by their presence, still left them at a disadvantage. The element of surprise was a short time slot. It seemed that the smugglers were secure they wouldn't be caught. The more offense they had, the better. Chara grumbled and agreed, herding them to hide behind the large shipping unit they stood by. She explained she would tell them when it was clear before extending her wings and flying to the top of the unit.

She slunk low on her belly and crawled to the edge, making a menacing picture of a predator. She let out a terrifying sound that sounded like a mix between a lion's roar and a cuckoo bird's screech. The guard didn't get time to scream as Chara pounced on him. A sickening crunch was heard and the guard let out a muffled whimper.

"You blasted bitch! My leg! You broke my leg!"

"Be lucky that is only what you get. If it were up to me, I'd eat your flimsy leg, human." she sneered, her snake head hissing menacingly in the man's face.

She called that the coast was clear, handing the gun off to Bill once they got close. Lestrade cuffed the man, knowing he wouldn't get far with a broken leg. Sherlock protested why he wasn't the one getting the gun. Chara explained that Bill being military was the reason and 'young pups' shouldn't play with toys. Lestrade didn't want Sherlock anywhere near a weapon that caused physical damage. His mouth alone caused more emotional damage that any wound could.

"Don't worry, Nancy Drew. You can get behind me if something goes wrong." Bill said as he did a quick check of the weapon.

"Hilarious."

"I'm just going to pretend I don't see a gun because we need the help. Sherlock, for the love of God, don't do anything stupid." Lestrade said, getting an update on his radio.

Donovan and the rest of his team had found the back entrance and had secured two men for arrest. They were now awaiting orders to go ahead. Lestrade confirmed to head into the warehouse, making sure everyone was ready. Chara slunk ahead first and slammed the door open , hearing a shout of pain from the other side. She bounded in with a screech, startling the smugglers.

"Scotland Yard! Put your hands where I can see them!"

There were a handful of men lazing about and doing jobs, but were grabbing guns at the intrusion. It only stopped them for a moment, but the sight was unimaginable. Hundreds of creatures of lore that weren't supposed to exist resided in cells. They were things spoken about in numerous parts of the world though stories and superstition. The beings that humans used to see centuries ago were in front of them. The cages were unlike any normal ones to house such things. Some had engravings, slips of papers with incantations, and bits of odd and ends that prevented escape. At their presence, the place went into an uproar.

They had to dodge bullets by running through the spaces between the cages, trying not to get killed. The men were well prepared more than they thought and soon the group found themselves pinned down behind an unhappy abada. The creature looked at them warily, not even phased by the gunfire. It gave a small nod greeting to Chara, leaning against the bars of the cage.

Chara growled at the men who were taking cover from the returning shots. Bill and Sherlock tried to figure out what to do to gain an advantage.

"This is bad. I'm running out of ammo and we're pinned down. If we sit here any longer, they will flush us out." Bill said as he leaned over Chara to shoot.

His shots managed to throw one of the men off, making him curse and dive behind a multitude of cages. He quickly ducked down, looking at Sherlock. They needed an idea. Lestrade had gotten separated during the fight. Hopefully, he made it to one of his team. Still, Bill didn't like being a sitting duck.

"Alright, Nancy Drew. We need a plan. Quick and in a hurry."

Sherlock went into his thinking pose, not sure on how to proceed. Their helpful sphinx could be used as an advantage, but she was their only real cover. The pistol Bill had was barely a match to the automatics the smugglers carried. Lestrade and his team likely had enough ammo, but there was still the lack of hiding spaces. He frowned and looked around for anything they could use. His eyes landed on the mechanical lock on the cages. Including the magical trappings, they had electronic locks on them.

That meant there was a control panel around to disengage said locks. It looked more like a coded lock than a key card lock. He would just have to hack into the system, enter the right code and push the switch. It sounded easy enough, but he would have to find the panel. That would take time and time was something they didn't have on their side. Looking towards Bill, he watched him check the clip of the gun. A curse left his lips before he squeezed further behind the cage. Sherlock noticed the creature in the cage and knew what to do. It was a long shot, but it could work.

"Excuse me, do you know where the control panel is for this?" Sherlock asked, indicating to the lock.

The abada in the cage narrowed its eyes at the detective. Its curled horns clinked against the bars as it let out a soft neigh. It was obvious that it didn't trust him.

"Why should I trust thee, human? Are you going release us?” it asked.

Sherlock nodded, somewhat distracted by the pure coffee color of its hair. It was unsettling to hear a voice project into the air (with a strangely distinct Ethiopian accent). More so, he was talking to a horse (unicorn?). The abada scoffed, which was impossible as its mouth never moved, turning its attention to Chara. It observed how she protected them and spat acid on bullets that came too close.

"Sphinx, do you trust these humans? Are they here to release us?" It studied both Bill and Sherlock. "Do they belong to you?"

Chara glanced at the abada with a nod. "Yes and yes. They rescued me from the fate you are in now, abada. Though the pups do not belong to me, you can trust them."

The abada looked thoughtful before nodding. It turned back to Sherlock and told him the panel was other side of the warehouse from where they were. Sherlock poked his head out for a second and spotted it. He could see it between stacks of supplies and machines were set up. The only problem was getting there. The spacing between the cages were large. He wouldn't be able to get cover in time before being gunned down. But, it was their only chance.

"Bill, how much ammo do you have left?"

"I got half this clip left. Why?"

Sherlock turned to stare before motioning to the control panel. "I need to get there to release them. Can you lay enough cover fire for me to get there? I'm sure that Chara will assist you.“ he said.

Bill looked unhappy with the idea, but gave a understand nod. He looked at Chara for confirmation. She gave him a feral grin that looked more home on a lion then a human face. He took that as the answer he wanted. She told them that the abada was spreading the word not to kill the men if attacking. Bill looked at Sherlock to see he was ready and saw him poised to run. Checking the pistol again, he nodded.

Sherlock took off like a shot while Bill covered him the best he could. Chara let out a roar and lept at the nearest shooter, making his shots go wide. Sherlock kept his head down as he ran to the control panel. A shot grazed to his hip as he got close, making him swear and run faster. He finally made it, somewhat impressed with the technology they were using. It was top of the line and no doubt very hard to get. His fingers went as quick as possible to hack into the system.

He closed out all outside distractions, distantly aware of the firefight. He had to focus. His stomach clenched as he heard Bill let out a cry of pain. He didn't want to look (he wanted to look) to see if Bill got shot. With one last punch of the keys, an alarm went off and a loud hiss as the cages opened. The fighting stopped and there was silence before the mayhem occurred.

The creatures rushed out, breaking out windows and doors to escape. Some did attempt to attack the men who attacked them,but were too injured or weak. Those who weren't affected kept going and those who were replaced with ease. In all, the chaos seemed to last for ages before the place emptied with a startling quickness. Those who were left confiscated the guns to give the Yard or helped to heal the injured and sick. He turned away from the panel to survey what was happening, seeing Lestrade taking charge to get the arrested into the van. Sherlock observed an awestruck Donovan and other members given the orders to help those creatures in need. They had done it.

It was a bit disappointing that no one would be able to know, but it was enough. Sherlock was privy with knowledge that only a handful of people in the world had. He started to look for Bill and was surprised as Chara landed in front of him. A cheerful smile lit up her features, her tail wagging at what she accomplished. She leaned up on her hind legs and gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek. She laughed at the startled look as she extended her wings, pulling out one of her primaries. She waited until Sherlock touched it before closing his hand around it.

"Young pup, this was one of the liveliest nights of my life. I am glad that I could help so many Strangers and avenge a friend. Alas, I cannot stay." Chara said.

Sherlock stared at the feather in his hand, feeling a strange tingling in his fingers at the touch. The sage colored feather shimmered faintly as the light went over it. He placed it gingerly in the inside of his coat. "Your help was useful. Where will you go now?" he asked.

"Greece or maybe travel the world again. I've heard that the Egyptian gods host a nice party in the pyramids." she said with a shrug.

Sherlock nodded, not wanting to look too much into the statement. He faintly realized he lived in a world now where gods were probably real. He was about to suggest a place when the sphinx placed a gentle hand on his arm. He looked down at her with curiosity and wonder  why she looked so happy.

"You are a good man, Sherlock. Your friend and DI are just as good. They both care for you. I have to say, I've grown fond of you during our short acquaintance." Chara gave him a fond look and patted his arm. "Break the feather and I'll come to aid you in any way. Keep your friends close, young pup. I believe that your insight into our world is far from over."

"What am I suppose to take from that? An excuse for you to come flirt with Lestrade or as some kind of omen?"

"I'm a sphinx, it's a riddle. You're smart enough to figure it out when the time comes. Until then, young pup."

With those last words, Chara walked away from him. She stopped by Lestrade, who she gave a sneaky peck on the cheek on her way out before taking off out the door and into the skies. Sherlock filed Chara's words away to think of later before remembering another important thing. He stopped walking and realized needed to check up on Bill. He didn't see him at previous spot other than a small pool of blood. He started to walk around to see where he was before getting distracted by a mop of blond hair. In the third row of cages he was walking through, he saw John. He looked a little worse for the wear and looked significantly different from his pictures. Scabbed claw marks ran down his hip that disappeared into his tail. His jellyfish parts were missing along with patches of scales on his tail and bruises littered his chest and back.

Sherlock knew he should find Bill, but he found himself rooted to the spot. He watched the sandman fix up a fair-skinned tengu's broken arm with the cloth of its own clothing. Before he knew he was moving, he was standing near the pair. The two jumped at his appearance and looked at him warily. The tengu was the first to realize Sherlock was not a threat. He thanked John for the help and was gone in a blur of feathers. John started at Sherlock curiously, the tentacles on his tail curling loosely around him. He leaned forward to sniff at Sherlock before tilting his head.

"You know Bill. Is he here? Why do know him? Did he send you?" John blurted out. "How did you even find this place?"

Sherlock didn't answer at first, composing himself. John had a pleasing tenor for his voice, some words sounding melodious with an accent he couldn't place. He was nearly overwhelmed with the data he was getting from him. He gathered himself so he could answer. He motioned for John to follow him, explaining that he was looking for Bill now.

"He came along with me to rescue you. The name is Sherlock Holmes. He hired me to find you. It took me a bit of convincing, I will admit." Sherlock said as John slithered beside him.

John was looking all over for his friend and absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder. "John, but you probably already knew that. You humans are stubborn when confronted with things you don't believe in anymore. Downright dangerous even."

Sherlock couldn't help nodding in agreement when he spotted Bill. The man was sitting on top of one of the smaller cage, holding his arm. Blood dripped down from his fingers as an elf helped heal the wound. The elf's hands glowed a soft grey around Bill's arm. A mangled bullet came out his arm and the wound slowly knitted itself back together. Bill thanked the elf who nodded and made his way to another creature. Sherlock itched to check how it happened, but there was John who was far more interesting right now. Sherlock could feel his chest lighten at seeing Bill was no longer injured. The man looked up at their approach, mouth open to tell Sherlock off but snapped shut at seeing John.

He seemed stuck where he was, disbelieving what he was seeing. John was the first to break the tension, closing the distance between them with surprising speed. He launched himself at Bill, nearly making him fall off the cage and hugged the man tightly around the neck. His tail coiled around the rest of Bill until he almost was in the man's lap. Bill seemed to sag against John and returned the hug just as tight. They pulled apart and rested their foreheads against each other, not letting go. Sherlock looked rather uncomfortable with the scene and cleared his throat to get their attention.

Bill looked up, eyes wet with unshed tears and grateful. "Sherlock, thank you so much. I mean it. No one else could have even done this."

Sherlock walked over and sat beside Bill, careful to not sit on one of John's tentacles. "No need, though I'm sure you'll something painfully sentimental to do so."

"I'll come up with better nicknames, bother you with obnoxious video games and buy you dinner. Those kinds of things." Bill smirked as John laughed at his suggestions. "I might even buy you a bouquet of flowers."

Sherlock scoffed. "You wouldn't dare. Are you going to drive home?"

"Not at this hour. I wouldn't even try that long of a drive. Mind if we stay at the flat?"

"I would have suggested anyway. Lestrade will want us to fill out statements and all those boring things. It might take a few days which would be inconvenient for you going between East Sussex and London."

They both paused as they heard Lestrade calling for them. Sherlock found himself reluctant to do statements and figured Bill and John would want to spend time together. Bill looked over John's head before releasing him from the hug, sliding down to the floor. It had been a long day.

"I take that as our cue to leave. You’re hailing the taxi so we can go get my car."he said, he and John walking towards the exit.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed behind them. "Sure, let me do everything, seeing as I've solved a spectacular case. The least I can do is summon us a taxi with a cabbie that won't go into cardiac arrest at the sight of John."

"Oh shut it, Nancy Drew."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, guys! I wrote this during my second week of jury duty. No kidding. Back and forth during breaks and riding on the train, I finished this. Seriously, I'm excited and please tell me what you think.


	12. Strange New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for sticking with me through this whole thing. I really appreciate it and I hope its enjoyable now that its finished. There's no plans for a sequel yet or if there's one in the works. I do know there might be some one shots off this every now and then.

Sherlock wasn't sure if to be wary or compliant at how easy Bill and John fit into his life. It was like they had always lived at Baker Street. When they returned to the flat, Bill  patched John up before crashing in the spare bedroom upstairs. Sherlock only remembered getting his pajama pants on before falling face first into the bed. Rolling on his back as he woke, he stared bleary eyed at the ceiling. Last night had been more stressful than he thought. He heard the bed creak upstairs and figured Bill was still asleep.

Sherlock was surprised that he had fallen asleep. He checked his mobile for the time as he grabbed his dressing gown; it was a quarter before ten. He really had slept much longer than he had expected. Sleeping, when he could make himself lay down, until around seven was his usual schedule if he slept at all. Since he was already up, he could check on Bill and John. It wasn't that he was worried or something silly like that. He was just going to observe their sleeping patterns.

Mind made up, Sherlock headed for the staircase. He made a small detour to hang up his coat, making a mental note to see if the feather wasn't crushed. He walked up the stairs, avoiding the creaky seventh step to stand outside the bedroom. Bill didn't bother to close the door like usual, betraying his tiredness. Yesterday's clothes were on the floor, leading a trail to the bed. At least he had made it under the covers in his own bed. Bill had only managed to strip down to his pants, which were a surprising shade of purple, sleeping on his face.

One arm hung off the side and the fringe of his hair blew up slightly as he snored. John draped himself over Bill's body, his head nestled in the middle of his back. The sandman had his coils extended, hanging half off the bed since he was too long to fit. A few tentacles were wrapped around Bill's waist, but it didn't seem to disturb his sleep. Obviously, they slept in the same bed more often than not. They made quite the picture. Sherlock could deduce how they missed each other. How they slept together in same space and the closeness was normal. Sherlock found himself so caught up in his thoughts, he jumped when John opened his eyes and stared at him. A curious look was thrown his way as if to ask why he was standing there.

"Uh, Sherlock, right? Bill isn't going to wake up anytime soon. I don't know how he forgot how tiring a skirmish could be. Did you need something?" John asked, shifting onto his side to get comfortable.

His words snapped the detective out his thoughts. He gave him a small smile as Sherlock denied he needed anything. He was only 'observing' them. John had been alive long enough to know Sherlock was curious about him. He did wonder if he and Bill were temporary mates, but last night showed him they were just friends. He was worried for him. Besides, Sherlock looked like he could use a few more hours of sleep. John pulled his coils closer to his body to make space on the other side of the bed.

"Sleep here, then. I know you have questions, but I'm still sleepy. We could all use some sleep after last night." John said, nuzzling Bill's back.

Sherlock found himself stunned the nonchalant gesture. Few could stun him. Not even Mycroft could do that. He was unusually hesitant, but he acquiesced once John patted the empty side of the bed. He slid under the covers and got comfortable. He couldn't help but jump as John draped some of his lower half over his legs. John only smiled and raised one of his tentacles to wave at Sherlock.

Sherlock's lips twitched and he fought down a smile. He stretched out and let one of his hands rest on John's tail. John laughed at Sherlock's expression, shifting Bill in his sleep. Bill opened his eyes half way at the noise, making the two go silent. He shifted his head to see Sherlock and narrowed his eyes at him. Grumbling, Bill gave him one of the pillows under his head. He was too comfortable to ask why Sherlock was in the bed with him in the first place.

"Glad you two are bonding. Just don't snore." he said, voice thick with sleep.

"Why are you squinting?" Sherlock couldn't help but ask.

"I don't have my contacts in, git. I'm far sighted. Eyesight is shit close up. Remember I wear glasses? Now go to sleep. You're making breakfast when we get up."

"Why?"

"Sleep, Sherlock. And no more antics, John."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the thought of cooking, but tried to go to sleep. John muttered something to Bill that Sherlock couldn't catch, but Bill mumbled into the pillow. He fell asleep again. Leftover military habits most likely had a hand in that. The last thing Sherlock caught before he closed his eyes was John giving him a cheeky wink. The second time he woke; he was alone and still in Bill's bed. He could hear the television on downstairs and moving around.

He hoped that Bill was kidding about breakfast. He still had the mold cultures in one of the cupboards that he was experimenting on. Sherlock made his way downstairs to demand tea when he walked in a domestic sight. Bill had made tea (and put on his pajamas), invading the sofa with John and was watching the news. Apparently he wasn't kidding about the breakfast. He had left out bread, eggs, milk and all kinds of things Sherlock didn't even realized he owned to make food. He stood in the doorway, watching the two sitting content on the couch.

He couldn't even be too annoyed as his own cup was steaming on the counter.

"I sterilized everything because your kitchen is a biohazard. Surprise me with your cooking skills." Bill said, his eyes not leaving the television.

John took that time to lift his head from Bill's shoulder. "Also, I want pancakes."

Sherlock glared at the two before staring at the ingredients. He could cook (his grand mere taught him), but it was tedious. Still, he could treat it as an experiment to see what John ate. If Bill happened to get any, it would be the ruined batches that would have to go into the garbage. He focused on cooking instead, the science of it all occupying his brain.

"I believe I should get something in return for this tedious domesticity." Sherlock said as he filled a pan with pancake batter.

"And what would that be?" Bill asked as John changed the channel to some cooking show.

"How you and John met. You kept repeating how John needed to be present and now he is. So, I believe I am owed an explanation." he said.

Bill looked at John with a small frown, not sure if he wanted to say anything. John looked thoughtful and gave Bill a nod. The memories didn't hold the same sting they might have a few years ago. Only some of the soldiers in Bill's platoon and a few higher ups knew their story. It wouldn't hurt to tell Sherlock. He seemed like a caring, if not eccentric man. He leaned on Bill as he gathered his thoughts.

"I had lost my family during the trip to my original caves in Kandahar. The trip had taken months and I returned to see you humans had built on top of it. The entrances that had been dug were gone and long buried by the sands. I was busy digging another entrance when some soldiers disturbed me." John muttered with a frown.

It was an unpleasant memory. It still gave him nightmares and a frustrating tremor in his hand. He was usually optimistic, but humans were always quick to destroy before observing. He saw the questioning look on Sherlock's face once he said they disturbed him.

"They thought I was some kind of injured man, but once they realized I wasn't, they pointed those guns at me. I never saw a gun before and I wasn't in the greatest moods. I thought that they wanted to take my caves away from me in a territory grab. So, I attacked them and got shot." John tapped his scarred shoulder.  "All I remember after that is unimaginable pain."

Bill couldn't help but wince as he remembered he first time he saw John. It had been a mess. "Right well, the squad had shot John in a panic. He had attacked one of them, almost ripping the poor lad's face off. Frankly, the lads were pissing scared they had killed someone by accident. They figured that he had to be some kind of endangered species."

"Idiots. John is not an endangered species." Sherlock grumbled as he started on the bacon.

No one used their brains anymore. It was one of the stupidest things he had ever heard. That was saying a lot since Anderson was the stupidest person he could think of. Bill gave Sherlock a shrug and asked if he could continue.

"I'll admit I freaked out a bit at my first sight of John. He was much more tanner and had blue blood leaking out of his shoulder like a spout. He was half dead on the table once they brought him in, but I couldn't let him die. Especially after he was only protecting himself from what he perceived as a threat. Unfortunately, it was knowledge and his different body physiology that I couldn't fully help him. To make a real long story short, John woke up and thanked me in broken English. He told me what happened, I told the general and he had to call back here. Truthfully, John is under the Official Secrets Act for being a help to the country." he added.

John gave a somewhat bashful smile at the praise. He punched Bill in the shoulder. "You forgot that you taught me what you know about human medicine since I'm a healer too. He also helped me get a better grip on the English language and British culture." he laughed.

Sherlock stared at the two, ignored in favor of teasing each other. He finished cooking breakfast and was nice enough to give both a plate full of food. John dug in right away like he hadn't eaten weeks (which was probably the truth). Bill gave Sherlock a smile, but still looked over his food as it would poison him. If Bill was telling the truth, that meant Mycroft had to know. Of course he would keep it away from Sherlock. It was the biggest mystery he could ever encounter. If he saw him, he would make sure to give him the biggest migraine imaginable.

Though as if in a horrifying plague, his brother appeared in his doorway. He wasn't alone for once. Lestrade was there with him and seemed to be a little stressed. It looked like he didn't go home last night by the state of his clothes. He seemed annoyed too, but that didn't faze Sherlock. Too much time with Mycroft could do that. He could see Lestrade glaring at both him and Bill. Ah. Maybe not.

Sherlock knew it was for ditching him last night without giving their statements. They could have stayed and helped Lestrade since they did have more information about what had occurred in the first place. Sherlock realized that he left because he was thinking of Bill and John's well being first. Strange. He would have to think about that later. Didn't he get that last night was draining? That didn't stop him from glaring daggers at them. The DI spared a quick glance at John which was telling. He was probably used to sight of such strange things since last night.

"You knew about this all along, didn't you?"

The most telling thing that confirmed Mycroft knew was how he reacted to John. He gave him the same polite nod as Bill, but otherwise ignored them. He wasn't just here because he checking on him either. He probably wanted to him to do something government related. Sherlock wanted to throttle him. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Sherlock and stayed standing. He ignored the look and hoped that Mycroft didn't sit down. If he stayed standing, that meant he wasn't planning a long visit.

"Of course, the government would have continued to be the only one knowing until your spectacle at the docks. The warehouse footage was released onto the Internet and has gone viral. The machines in the warehouse were programmed to do so if removed, which no one cared to check for. Also, various creatures are still being spotted internationally going to their countries of dwelling. My phone has not stopped ringing and your security clearance had to be upgraded. Again." Mycroft said with slight exasperation.

His brother was the only one he knew that could cause a huge mess in one night. The whole situation couldn't be covered up. Mycroft had only been lucky enough to stop it from the news stations, but the papers were making headline news of it now. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat in his armchair, grabbing his violin from the table. He plucked the strings with a glare in Mycroft's direction. He was cross and annoyed that Mycroft of all people knew something that he didn't first.

"Fine, now get out." Sherlock snapped.

"Also, Lestrade will be the one announcing to the world with Anthea that what has occurred is real. He is being reassigned into the head of a police mythological agency connected to Scotland Yard and also existing as another department in the government. You will partake in this, brother." Mycroft gave Sherlock a stern look, ignoring how Sherlock scoffed.

No wonder Lestrade looked so annoyed. He was getting reassigned to another job and he would be answering directly to Mycroft. His new position was no doubt levels above what a DI could do. But, he would be dealing with Sherlock on a daily basis. He was sure that he would be investing in some kind of stress relief regimens to save his health. He muttered something about controlling Holmeses, but otherwise kept silent.

"Mr. Murray, I would like to offer you a permanent job in the newest department as head doctor with your friend, John. Also, you would the official keeper and recorder of all mythological creatures in part with other scholars."

If Sherlock was annoyed before, he was seething now. Bill was his friend, not Mycroft's lackey. He didn't even care if he had to help Lestrade. The only upside would hopefully that crimes would be more interesting. Bill had a considering look on his face. He already did both those jobs. John would also benefit since he was pretty proficient in medicine already and could learn more about human medicine that Bill couldn't teach him. He leaned back so he could look Mycroft in the eye. He had to admit, the resemblance between him and Sherlock was startling.

"Give me a week to think about it. I have to discuss some things with my flat mate and John." he said, chuckling at the surprised look on Sherlock's face.

He got a half smile in return which told him that Sherlock was more than happy. There was no way he was going to leave Sherlock now. There was too much fun to be had. Plus, it was more exciting to discover new creatures together rather than alone. Mycroft nodded and turned to get prepared to leave, Lestrade going on ahead. As he set his foot out the door, he wasn't surprised that Sherlock had to have the last word.

"You wouldn't know anyone by the name Moriarty?"

There was a slight pause in his step. "No. Why do you ask?"

"One of the smugglers said something. Apparently, they're behind the whole smuggling operation." Sherlock said.

Mycroft nodded, but didn't say another word as he left. Sherlock waited until the door closed to look at Bill. He didn't think the man would want to stay with him. No one ever wanted to stay. Sherlock knew that he wasn't the easiest person to live with. Even before meeting Bill, he had run off a good amount of people. They hadn't lasted a week. Bill was still here and was staying after the case. He was just a client that somehow turned into a friend. He wasn't sure what that said about Bill, but it would an interesting experiment to see how long he would last.

"Flat mate?" Sherlock said as he plucked the strings of his violin.

"Sure. My house is paid off and we can use it as a vacation home. Besides, you can't be left alone and we're friends right?" Bill said, giving Sherlock a look.

Sherlock hesitated at the word. He never had a friend before. Bill took all of Sherlock's flaws in stride and liked to tease him. Nothing phased him and he kept a cool head under pressure, even with the sarcasm. Even upstairs, the man didn't shout for him leave, he didn't mind at all. He hadn't had a person that he could be so calm around. He nodded and plucked a sharp note from the instrument. He could see Bill grinning at his nod.

"Great! And you'll get to know John too. I'm sure that we'll all be good friends. I can help you find this Moriarty person too." Bill said, getting back to his breakfast.

Sherlock thought of the name and how fearful the smugglers were about messing up. He thought about how intricate a puzzle the crime had been. Working from no knowledge to the amount he gained from Bill and books had been a true challenge. He still wanted to know all he could the mythological creatures he could encounter. How did one even start to look into something so staggering illogical as a myth? Whoever this Moriarty person was, Sherlock was looking forward to see what else they would come up with.


End file.
